Friends in Dead Places
by blackhemlock
Summary: One wet October night Ianto Jones gets a lesson in food, mortality, conversation and the betrayal of friends... and Jack's past comes back to haunt him.
1. The differences between us

Ok, so this is my first foray into the Torchwood Fandom, and this fic was written for the Halloween fest over at tw-calender: (community./twcalender/ ) where there is a fic a day being posted throughout October. This was my offering for the 10th October and it is in 5 parts. I will put it up over 5 consecutive days baring any unforeseen problems.

**Title: **Friends in Dead Places**  
**  
**Characters/Pairings:** Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Toshiko Sato, Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper, Jack/Ianto, Ianto/OMC, mentions Jack/OMC  
**Spoilers:** Small ones for Cyberwoman, Countrycide, End of Days, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and Exit Wounds but nothing major!

**Prompt:** Vampire  
**Warnings:** M/M relationships, violence, blood, Character Death, angst. Don't like any of those - don't read!

**Disclaimer:** Torchwood belongs to RTD and the BBC, unfortunately. But if I owned them they'd have a lot more fun! This is a non-profit work of fiction and the only thing I lay claim to is the OMC and the plot (and I still have reservations on that one!)

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

The night was cold. It fogged up the windows so only the soft glow and shadows of the customers could be seen from outside the restaurant. From the inside, the starry night and scourging wind didn't exist. There was nothing more than the cosy room, the rich scent of garlic and tomato that pervaded the air, teasing the senses into hunger, and the heady feel of good times past and to come. It was a place of quiet intimacy and warm welcome and it sunk into the bones of anyone who walked through the door.

The restaurant was fairly quiet though, only five tables occupied, no one wanting to venture out into the unforgiving Cardiff night. Not even for hot food and good wine. All were couples, men treating women dressed in elegance and shine to a rare meal in select company. Whether they were wives and husbands or couples of no real distinction, they had all come with the purpose of a nice meal and a good time. A night of fine dining and then stars on the way home.

Only one couple was different. They had shunned the fine table in the centre of the room, near the open roaring fire, more interested in the shaded corner to the back. Lit by one worn candle and seeped in shadow, it was an intimate hollow. One for lovers, fresh and hot and in need of the quiet solitude, yet there was something wrong with their picture.

It was obviously not a meeting of friends or like minds. There was a palpable tension between the two that tasted of distrust and enmity. It was easy to dismiss it as nothing more than a business meeting, citing the younger man's well tailored suit, polished shoes and official black umbrella. But then you had to ignore his eyes. Old perhaps for his boyish face, as if they had seen too much, pain most possibly, hardened to a diamond edge of blue. And they kept flicking to the door. Not in the way one would were they waiting for someone, an eager light shining through the gloom; but guarded. Calculating. As if he'd already worked out exactly how many steps were between him and the outside.

His companion however, was relaxed. Elegantly sprawled in his chair. Casually blocking the way out. Silver jewellery glinted maliciously in the candlelight, like a hidden knife, and the flame turned strands of his hair a bloody sunset. Yet, there was nothing untoward about him. Fine linen shirt and well tailored trousers made him quite the compliment to his companion of black and wine. But the fit of them, together, was wrong. Too starched and stiff, like church at High Mass.

There was no comfort to this meeting. No sweet and welcome tension. There was nothing but winter's chill and the very pungent tang of fear masked behind indifference. Yet, in fraudulent imitation of the lovers they were surrounded by, their attentions were locked on one another, ignoring even the young waiter as he deposited their drinks.

"There's not much difference between you and I," Webb commented, pushing the goblet he'd just filled across the table towards his guest.

The younger man gave him a disbelieving look, one brow raised (in itself a sardonic answer to a question Webb hadn't posed). He ignored the look, inwardly delighted that the young man wasn't cowed by his presence enough to let his automatic response shutter and stop. A person was never as truthful as they were when they were reacting to a situation.

"No," Webb shook his head, soft fronds of hair flicking into his face, "Truly we are not.

"I think you'll find that there are many differences between us. The obvious not withstanding," there was a slight curve of a smile to his words and the young man gave a calm shake of his head, light from the flickering candles catching and tripping on his cheekbones as his head moved slowly, side to side. A soft, neat hand reached out and clasped the stem of the wine glass, drawing it closer.

"Shall I prove it to you?" Webb ran his finger slowly round the rim of his glass, enjoying the mournful cry it sang and the way the water rippled in the light. "Shall I name the many ways in which we are the same?"

"Why would I need to know?" Worry seeped on to the edge of his words, just the slightest amount of fear. But his fortitude held.

"Because, you are, at heart, a seeker; you search out knowledge and the ways to trap it: in your mind, in your books, in your little data chips and computers. You sit there, calm as an isolated lake, and yet there is a rip beneath your starched, pressed exterior. Perhaps I should start there." He waved an idle hand towards the man seated opposite him. "You have an appreciation for the finer things in life. As do I."

"That hardly reassures me that you have no intentions of killing me."

"If I had wanted to kill you Ianto Jones, I would have taken you in that little alley. I wouldn't have revealed myself and you would have been dead before you were even aware of my presence."

"Comforting." Ianto leaned back in his chair.

"I suppose its not, from your point of view." Webb conceded defeat gracefully, taking a sip of his water. He winced and removed the lemon slice from his glass and the jug on the table. "Is there anything I can do to relieve you of your tensions?"

Had such a comment come from Jack (or even Owen – he could be just as driven to play innuendo charades as his boss), Ianto would have been in no doubt of the underlying offer. Neither of them had mastered the art of subtlety. But Webb seemed genuine in his offer to put Ianto at his ease.

"You expect me to trust you?"

"What do you have to lose?"

Ianto glared incredulously at the glib response, and laughed out "My life."

"Perhaps. But then again… Maybe you have something to gain?"

The offer was thin and deceptively veiled. Webb could, of course, just be offering to teach Ianto something. Tell him secrets that had been buried under the dirt of time. But there was so much more that he could be offering him.

"Tell me how we are the same." Ianto offered. "Convince me."

"Are you sure _that_ is what you want?" Again it was a dual offer. One which Ianto chose to ignore.

"I'm sure." And Ianto was. There was nothing but firm resolve in his words, a harsh line to his mouth. All the fear had bled from his eyes, replaced with a spark. A gauntlet had been thrown down.

Their gazes locked and held. Not even the gentle wave of the candle between them distracted their impromptu staring contest. Blue met amber unflinchingly, and Ianto smiled slightly. If there was one thing Ianto was it was patient. Webb smirked and a fire lit behind his eyes. Ianto saw the flame strike and catch and he knew, somewhere, deep in the darkness of his mind, that he should fear the flame. That he should back off, get up and leave the seductive warmth of the restaurant.

But he was caught.

That smouldering glint deep in the amber eyes, staring out at him, called to him. Like a magnet, it called out and snared him. _Webb, how very appropriate_, Ianto thought, even as those eyes mesmerised and lured him in. Like a fish on a line, he was helpless and all his mind could do was thrash and flounder, struggling for freedom, whilst he was reeled in.

There was a discreet cough, breaking the trance and both men turned. Ianto, mortified that he was now only a whisper from Webb, sank back into his chair and the shadows. He didn't see the vicious look Webb shot the waiter, nor the way the waiter shrank back. All Ianto saw was a young man, black and white and finely turned out, shoes shined and waistcoat of fine black cotton, the low light just picking up the fine pinstripes, holding a discreet pad and shiny silver pen and wearing an expectant expression. With a rush of embarrassment, Ianto realised that he hadn't even glanced at the menu. He wasn't usually so rude.

"Are you ready to order gentlemen?"

Webb flashed Ianto a reassuring smile. "I am not dining, but my friend will have the bruschetta to start and the truffle and wild mushroom risotto."

The boy didn't even blink at one man ordering for the other. He'd already been cowed into submissive servitude, by a vicious glare and a flash of pure white teeth that had seemed _wrong_. "Very good sir. Can I get you any more drinks?"

Webb glanced at the carafe of wine he had ordered for Ianto when they arrived, amused that only half a glass was missing. His water was mostly untouched; the ice had melted slightly and replenished the small amount he had removed.

"No, thank you. We'll call if we need anything."

The waiter nodded, tucking his pad and pen into the little pocket on the waistcoat and hurried away. Ianto was gratified to see that he clicked the pen off before putting it into his pocket. Biro ink was devilish to remove from cotton, and the high weave on his coat would make it harder. Once he was out of earshot, Ianto turned to his companion. Webb was smiling idly at him.

"You are annoyed."

Momentarily wrong-footed by the amusement and forthright nature of the man opposite, Ianto's mouth snapped shut and Webb chuckled.

"I have insulted you."

Aware that he was sitting across from a creature that could rip his throat out in seconds, Ianto bit back on the first comment that fluttered into his head and chose the path of silence.

"Truly Ianto, do not take this as some threat to your masculinity. My reasons for ordering are simply that the bruschetta and risotto are the best items on the menu. And, unless I am mistaken, they are the best you'll find in this city – and in most others."

"So you decided to order them for me?" Ianto's voice was carefully neutral, each word weighed and measured before spoken.

"Yes."

"And how can I be sure that they won't be compromised?" he asked, no hint of anything other than genuine belief that such a thing was possible.

It amused Webb greatly and his amusement coloured his voice fabulous shades of magenta, "You mortals and your paranoia," he laughed. "I could have compromised anything you order if you want to think that way."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I'd rather not. But still –"

"Oh do stop." The tone was meant to be friendly, but there was a finality to it that Ianto obeyed instantly. "I meant no harm in ordering for you and thought to save you some embarrassment. You hadn't even picked up the menu, and if my instincts about you are right – and they usually are – not only would admitting that have mortified you, it would also have deeply shamed you."

Reaching over the table, Webb lightly stroked his finger pads over the back of Ianto's hand. A trail of fine hairs rose and quivered at the touch, as if someone was walking over his grave, and as much as he wanted to, something told Ianto that pulling away was the wrong move.

Abruptly Webb's mood shifted. In the space between heartbeats, that deafening silence of death and ending, he went from seductive to astute. "You value manners above all things."

Ianto pulled his hand back, rubbing his own fingers over the ice track Webb had scored into him. He was cold. It felt as though his flesh had withered under the threat of frostbite, and Ianto was sure that his skin had to have been marked. Burned. But it was still the same pale, smooth limb it had been before, although he feared it was stained forever.

"What makes you say that?" Ianto asked, still rubbing at his hand, genuinely curious at such an assessment of himself.

Webb took a sip of his water, his eyes fixed on Ianto's. He gave no sign that he'd seen Ianto rubbing at his hand, Lady Macbeth in his vigour to cleanse. Instead, he casually carried on as though they were sharing amusing anecdotes and his wasn't dissecting Ianto's psyche. "It's in your every action. You held the door for the couple that were leaving as we arrived. You say please and thank you without conscious thought. You automatically moved your glass to the right when the waiter placed it on your left. It's automatic and deeply engrained."

Ianto flushed and hope the low lights covered it. Red stained his skin so easily. He was both flattered and disturbed that Webb had picked so much up about him in the short while they had been together. They had had to undergo extensive training at Torchwood One to eliminate any noticeable idiosyncrasies. He'd never even considered his manners as a defining trait. But he should have. His father had been a true gentleman and had brought Ianto up to have those same values. He shook his head slightly, banishing the ghosts of his childhood to another time.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of. In fact, I find it rather charming." Webb leaned forward, his grin bright and conspiratorial. "It reminds me of a simpler time."

Ianto laughed quietly at the compliment.

"You are quite fetching when you blush Mr Jones. "

Ianto ducked his head. He was used to Jack's patented flirting and constant innuendo. He was even used to the touching, inappropriate for the workplace. He could parry anything Jack threw at him with the skill of a practiced fencer, using his wit and dry humour as epee or foil depending on what he needed. His suit was his armour, his wit his rapier and the Hub his bailiwick.

Jack was to flirting as Shakespeare was to literature. But Ianto was a Master at his own arts, deadpan repartee being just one of them.

But Webb's subtle complements were something different. They pierced his armour like shrapnel, dodging through the weakest points and Ianto couldn't defend himself against such an onslaught. His foil was unsuitable to parry such attacks and would be totally out of place in such a skirmish. Like using a butcher knife to chop vegetables, it would be rude and brash to act as he would with Jack.

So he took the only route left open to him. Diversion. "Webb, you said that was your name."

"I did." Webb's smile told Ianto he was merely indulging this game, and he suddenly seemed very much the predator he was. He was like a tamed wild animal. It was friendly, but you hadn't removed its claws and would only tolerate so much. Perhaps that wasn't quite the analogy Ianto wanted, but it was all he could think of whilst fear clutched at his gut with icy fingers. It really impeded the thought process.

He coughed, desperately fighting to get back on track. "Is it your real name or a pseudonym?"

"An interesting question; I have to admit, you're the first to ask it." He rolled his mouth into some strange hybrid of a pout and a smirk. And then, gracefully, he answered. "It's my real name." He paused, laughed, then spoke again, "Well, no, that is not strictly true."

Ianto raised an eyebrow.

"It was my surname. My first name," Webb paused and looked deep into the candle in the middle of their table. The flame was bright, weaving softly from side to side. The bottle holding it was caked with wax, another drop idly tricking down the side as Webb watched. "I'm not sure I really remember it. It's been so long since anyone has called me it."

"How long?" Ianto asked gently, sipping his wine.

Webb didn't seem to hear him, reaching forward and passing his hand through the flame. Like a bored child. Although Ianto wondered how he could do it. Vampires, from all he had read and the countless movie marathons at university, were supposedly quite flammable. Like a human soaked in gasoline. One spark and they were dust. Webb didn't seem too bothered though, merely watching as his palm passed over and through the flickering light.

"Long enough. A millennia at least."

Ianto closed his mouth. He'd guessed the vampire was old. Vampires always were. But he'd assumed a hundred years. Five, if he wanted to be exotic. But older than a thousand? Older than Jack?

Webb's voice spoke to him as if from years ago, obscured by the veils of time, "I clearly remember thinking that my name, my first name, wouldn't stand the test of time. I don't think it was typical even then. But Webb, well, it seemed harmless. Timeless." He smiled, though it was bleak. "People seem to enjoy it now though."

"I bet." Ianto imagined they did, unusual names were fashionable. To be named something solid and staid like George or Mary was a grievous insult, sometimes more so to the parent than the child.

Webb smiled, a blinding flash of teeth and Ianto caught the flicker of light on sharp canines. It was Jack's grin almost, but it wasn't nearly as reassuring. Idly Ianto wondered how, given he was a thousand years old, Webb had such beautiful white teeth. Did vampires grow new ones? His thoughts were stopped though before they could really gather momentum.

"But, that isn't the reason we're here." Webb rolled his shoulders, tilting his head from one side to the other, cracking out his spine, before lolling back into his chair. Big cat, Ianto's mind supplied. Lion in the savannah, lounging in the sun. So easy, so relaxed… so arrogant. Apex predator.

"You were telling me how we're similar."

Webb nodded, "I was. But perhaps you should move your napkin."

Ianto frowned, but did as he was told. He was so used to following Jack's orders that it was second nature to him. Automatic reflex. Like his manners.

A plate of thick ciabatta bread slices covered in juicy chunks of fresh tomatoes, basil and mozzarella was set before him, and his mouth watered as the smell of fresh tomatoes and garlic assaulted his senses. The vibrant red of the fruit and green of the fresh herbs, stood out against the pure crisp white of the plate. Like Christmas presents against snow.

For a moment he stared, "Please, eat." Webb prompted and Ianto woke from his trance. He snapped his napkin out before laying it over his lap and reached for the cutlery. The knife and fork were weighty in his palm, obviously expensive.

As he cut into the bread, feeling it crack under his knife, Webb started talking. "I meant it when I said that we were not all that different. The differences between a vampire and a human are quite minimal. The myths are just that. Myths, idle tales to pass the night away: to scare children, prevent grave robbing, keep young maiden's virtue safe. Monsters are more effective at that then truth."

Ianto swallowed his first bite. He'd almost moaned when the warm bread and tomato had hit his tongue, so fresh and flavoursome. It was like biting into Italy.

"So what is the truth?"

"Simply, that whilst we are faster, stronger and live much longer, we are just like you. We're flesh and blood. Things that kill you, kill us. We walk, we talk, we live, we love. At the very root of it, we are just like you." Webb sipped, rolling the water round in his mouth for a second before swallowing. "It's more a question of morality than mortality."

The surprise showed on Ianto's face, but he covered, raising the loaded fork to his lips. His silence invited Webb to continue his tale.

"The real challenge of being a vampire is food. We are so similar to you, stood side by side there are no discernable differences."

Ianto disagreed as he watched the candle's glow in Webb's eyes. Webb was so very different to him. The way he moved, the way he talked even, it was calculated. Controlled. Like someone pretending to be normal. They'd had training on that too at One. How to spot the abnormal. Aliens could look human but they would always give themselves away by simply being too human. The constant effort and thought showed eventually and the charade collapsed.

Webb had shown himself up the moment he'd approached Ianto. The night was wet and dirty, the smell of bonfire and burning leaves hanging heavy in the air and giving October that perpetual haze; too many fireworks leaving gunpowder in the air. But Webb, Webb had been too perfect for an October night. Ianto prided himself on his appearance. His suits were always dry-cleaned, his trousers placed in the press the night before. His shoes always shined and left on the mat. _Clothes make the man. Then man never makes the clothes._ His tad had firmly believed that and Ianto had learned from him. But even Ianto's suit was damp and slightly mudded. Spackled from the rain and splashes from the puddle.

Webb's shoes hadn't even been scuffed. The hems of his trousers were dry, despite the numerous puddles that littered the alley. Ianto had noticed these things almost immediately. He was trained, both as a tailor and as an investigator, even though he had ended up as an Archivist. (_Better suited to the rigours of the job. Excellent memory, almost perfect recall. Eye for detail. _His report had said.)

Webb was too neat to be human. He glided down the alley rather than walked. Everyone moved differently. Jack was like a force of nature, striding and billowing and filling up all the space with his sheer presence. Webb tried to be unassuming and soft, but he drew the eye. Like a magnet. Or a diamond.

Webb was still talking though, still explaining. "Yet we have to kill you. We have to look at you and look like you but we have to take your lives to survive."

"Human's kill one another all the time." Ianto pointed out, ignoring the chill that was gripping on to his spine and worming into his muscles. He'd almost forgotten what Webb was, lulled by food and wine and conversation and the companionship he was desperate for from Jack.

"Ah yes. And, except for those extreme cases, they know they are wrong. Deep down inside, they know its wrong and eventually the guilt eats at them. Gnawing and whispering and driving them quite mad." Webb paused. "Unless of course they are true monsters and feel nothing for those of their kind."

Ianto was in the Beacons, meat clever at his throat, the hungry grin and fatty fingers of a mad man digging into his head and his face. They'd already tasted him, licked up sweat and blood from his "tenderising". Called him sweet, tasty… veal.

"Ianto?"

Ianto blinked. Dull blue eyes relit as he returned from that madness of a village left to itself. He doubted they'd ever felt guilt.

"I'm sorry." He took a big bite of his food, letting the rich mix of flavours wash away the tears and blood and mucus. "Please, go on."

Webb narrowed his eyes and assessed Ianto critically. Pale and pained but determined to be distracted. "A vampire who feels guilt is a dangerous creature. They don't feed, seeing the faces of their victims everywhere they go. They drive themselves mad with the guilt and eventually, after months, years, centuries perhaps of denial, they snap. Like elastic coming back on you, it's so vicious. They take out entire villages, gorging on their guilt and madness. And they doom us all." Webb's voice was sad and distant, as if he too was haunted by things he'd rather forget.

"So you just see us as food?" Ianto asked; voice hard. He'd felt comfortable for a time despite the constant awareness of just who he was with. The fact that he _knew_ what the danger was made it easier for him to relax. But still, the casual dismissal of feeling things for humans hit him like a punch to the gut. Bile rose in his throat.

Webb laughed and Ianto glared, his face stone and ice and as unforgiving as Snowden in January. "Oh, don't look at me like that young one. You eat animals indiscriminately. Fried or poached or drenched in creamy sauce. Yet you keep pets and pat cows in the fields and teach your children what noise they each make. You really can't judge."

"So that's all we are then? Meat?" Ianto felt sick.

A voice rang in his ears '_He's meat. Afraid, we're all just meat._' It had hurt Ianto to hear it then, but despite his terror he'd seen the madness in the man's eyes: isolated from the real world, insular and distrusting and so very very lost. And somehow that had excused it, in the days that followed, when the world was rational once more, Ianto couldn't understand it, nor could he condone it, but he could see why it had happened.

But there was no such madness in Webb's eyes. They were wolf sharp; that spark of the wild still there even after all the years of domesticity. Whatever happened, Ianto knew that Webb's actions wouldn't be excused by madness or fear. He was in control of his every decision, cool, rational and deadly. And it was terrifying.

"No. Not at all." Webb reached out and took one of Ianto's hand, rubbing it soothingly as he spoke. "You are so much more than that. If you weren't then the guilt wouldn't be a danger to us." Webb's voice was calm and appeasing. Ianto didn't feel any better.

Were they really all just animals? Did death mean so very little that a hamburger had nothing to do with the pig it came from? Ianto wasn't sure he knew anymore. Wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Tell me something else," he begged; eyes wide, voice soft. "Anything else."

_Child_, Webb thought gently. _Lost little boy._

He considered for a bit, hunting for something to use. A tool, a tale, to win back shy smiles and sweet intrigue. Something to chase away the demons in the dark. "We can move fast. Very fast. Overtake cars on the motorway fast. I can hear a pin drop across the room. I know the man over there, sitting with the blonde is having an affair."

Webb pointed to the couple by the window, a middle-aged man sporting middle-aged spread and thinning hair and a woman, slight and blonde, dour looking but still attractive. Wedding rings glinted in the light.

"How?" intrigued, Ianto had cut Webb off mid flow.

"He smells of another woman's perfume."

"He might just work with someone who wears a lot of the stuff," Ianto argued, clearly recalling Gwen and her short lived addiction to some flowery scent or other. It had stuck in the back of his throat for days.

"Not that type of perfume." Webb grinned and it was dirtily human in its brightness.

"Oh," he could feel the blush rising again. Webb's smile grew and he waggled his eyebrows. "That's not really any of our concern is it?"

"I suppose not. But you did ask."

"I did. Forgive me. It won't happen again." Ianto was firm on that. No potential flirting with the vampire.

"We have other talents too." Webb continued, having distracted Ianto successfully from the nightmares that had been floating in his eyes. "We can see in the dark."

"Well, that would probably be of benefit," Ianto pointed out snidely. Webb ignored him.

"We can hear pitches beyond human capabilities. Like dogs or maybe bats. We can see for miles. I can see the individual stitching on your jacket and every crumb on your plate.

Ianto glanced down at his meal. There was still one slice of bruschetta left and he found that his appetite was returning.

"Would you like some?" He felt bad, sitting and eating whilst Webb just nursed his glass of water. The bruschetta was divine. He loved the salty weight of the tomatoes on his tongue, the tang of basil and garlic that hit the back of his throat and the comforting solidity of the toasted bread against his teeth. It was made to be shared, even just a bite. The slick slide of the mozzarella had to be felt, experienced. Loved.

He wanted to share it with someone, and Webb was here.

"No, but thank you for the offer."

"Vampire's don't eat?"

"No we do. Well, we can. It's simply that our senses are so much more refined. I can taste the garlic from here. I can hear ever crumb of caibatta as it hits your teeth and is ground down. I don't need to eat because I wouldn't benefit from actually putting the food in my mouth anymore than I am now."

Ianto nodded, weighing what he heard. It was a unique outlook to be sure. But, he still felt that Webb was missing out. "But, surely food this good should be tasted?" he argued, not quite willing to let the opportunity to share slip through his fingers.

Jack never had gotten round to taking him out, and although Webb wasn't Jack, he was there.

"Honestly, it would probably be too strong for my taste-buds. It's why I stick to water. It's bland enough to do nothing more than quench a thirst. It's all I drink."

Ianto paused, fork half-way to his mouth. "What about coffee?" His tone reflected the gravity of the question.

"Can't stand the stuff. It smells wonderful, so enticing, but it's too bitter. Too thick. Sometimes it feels like swallowing tar."

Carefully Ianto laid his fork back down, food untouched. "Where did you get the coffee from?"

Giving him a curious look, Webb answered slowly, "At a small café in London." His words were careful, as if he expected his answer to be earth shattering and wrong.

Which, it was; if the slack jawed expression quickly chased away by indignant fury, was anything to go by.

"That," Ianto enounced carefully, "Is not coffee."

"No, it was foul."

"You should taste real coffee."

Webb smiled, "Is that an offer?"

Ianto ignored him. "And what about sunlight?"

"What about it?" Webb was smiling.

"Does it kill you?"

"You'll find my friend, that most things you _know_ about vampires aren't true at all. Take sunlight. Given what I've already said about our senses and abilities what do you think it does to us?"

"Well, I doubt that the UV rays actually cause you to burn in any way, otherwise fluorescent lighting would have the same effect. So it isn't the light at all." He considered it for a moment. The Sun provided the Earth with energy essential for life. Light and –- "The heat. You feel the heat more than we do."

"You are quite something. It would take most people much longer and more prompting to work that out. I am impressed."

Ianto flushed under the praise. His stomach fluttered. It was nice having someone see you that way.

"I imagine then that Holy Water and the Cross do very little. Other than make you wet and slightly annoyed."

Webb laughed and shook his head, "No more than superstitions. Otherwise one would assume that the Star of David would have a similar effect. After all, a Jewish vampire would hardly revere and fear a Christian icon."

"Quite. And you have already mentioned tasting the garlic I'm eating."

"I hope that's not why you seem to be savouring every bite?" Webb teased.

Ianto blushed.

"Oh my dear Mr Jones, you are quite the treasure. So young and innocent on one hand. And so very wise and learned on the other. I imagine that I wouldn't tire of your company for a long while."

Ianto coughed and took a deep drink of his wine. "And the death thing? Animated corpses?"

"A muddle of fact and fiction," Webb waved his hand dismissively. "We do die, when we are turned. The exchange of blood shuts the body down temporarily whilst the metamorphosis occurs. But once it is over, then we are as alive as you are. It's simply quantified differently."

Ianto considered this carefully. His mind was like a filing cabinet, very much like the Archives he tended. He automatically sifted and sorted the information he received, placing it where it belonged, cross referencing it with what he already knew.

"So, that's why people thought vampires rose from the grave. Everyone is different, you said so yourself, so everyone would take a different length of time to… metamorphose?"

"You can use the term Turn if you wish," Webb offered magnanimously, tilting his water glass towards Ianto.

"Turn then." Ianto wasn't too sure about the terminology. It sounded far too much like a horror film for his liking. His brain carried on with the maths of his thought. "So, if each Turning takes a different amount of time, some people would stay dead longer than the others." Like Jack after Abaddon, his mind supplied, unable to refrain from cross-referencing and comparing the lengths of Jack's deaths with the damage sustained prior to his death.

Webb nodded, "Once again my young friend, you are quite correct. The mind is an amazing thing, and you Ianto, have a very gifted one."

Ianto ducked his head, determined not to blush this time, and focused instead on cutting the remaining ciabatta up into six bite-size pieces. Spearing one with his fork, he placed it carefully in his mouth, suddenly more aware of everything he felt, tasted, did. The garlic stood out the most. Not because it was strong, if anything it was mild, but he was very aware he was with a vampire.

He chewed carefully, now that he knew the titian man across from him could hear everything. It put Ianto on edge. He hated the sound of another person chewing; he could just tolerate watching someone eat with their mouth open, food mashed and masticated and rolling around in a great big mess of saliva and mush. But the sound, the sound repulsed him. The sloppy slap of their mouth and tongue, and sucking noise as tongue separated from palate or cheeks. Then the snapping and grinding of teeth, followed by that audible gulp that forced you to watch the throat muscles work and squeeze and push the food down the oesophagus. It made him squirm, like fingernails on the chalkboard or plastic forks on polystyrene plates. It made his insides quiver and his teeth grit and he hated it. The very idea that a stranger could _hear_ him chewing was horrific.

So he chewed slowly and silently, a conscientious effort not to make a sound, sliding his fork slowly in and out so that it couldn't clack against his teeth.

By the time he'd finished his food and dabbed away any remaining olive oil and crumbs he'd thought of another question. Looking up, he found Webb gazing at him intently through the candle. His amber eyes were fixed on the knot of Ianto's tie, or so Ianto told himself, and his face was peaceful. As if he'd finally found an answer to a question he'd deliberated over for hours. Yet, there was melancholy there too. A sweet sadness that seemed etched into every shadow on his fine-boned face.

The expression bit at Ianto, wormed through him and into his gut.

"You have a heartbeat?"

Webb didn't startle at the question as Ianto had hoped he would. Despite the appearance of being lost in thought, it was obvious that it took more than mere memories and introspection to truly distract a vampire.

"Of course I do. If I didn't, I imagine that all my blood would pool in my feet, and all you would be left with is a body with swollen blue feet." Webb's voice was teasing and light and drew a laugh from Ianto that he hadn't meant to relinquish. "We breathe too. Although, it is my belief that we could go days, perhaps years, without taking a single breath. But we do need it for speech at the very least."

"And killing you?"

"Do you honestly think I would give all my secrets away so easily?" He leaned forward. "I will tell you that whilst some things that work for humans do end a vampire's existence, the gun you have tucked under your waistcoat is not one of those things."

"I imagine that if I shot you in the head it would slow you down."

"And I imagine that it would only serve to make me angry. Pain and damage are relative concepts Ianto. I don't feel the way you do and I don't have to fear pain. I can push through it because I know it can't kill me. All the damage does is heal. And if that is the only consequence, do you really think that gun would save you if I decided to kill you."

"No, I never did. But, if you did decide to kill me, I wouldn't go without a fight."

"I'll bare that in mind," Webb replied seriously.


	2. Morality of Mortality

**So... Thank you to deetatarant and Audeamus for their kind reviews. As promised this is the second chapter and I still own nothing but Webb and the plot. **

**Hope you enjoy (if you do... review?)**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

The waiter was efficient, clearing Ianto's plate and cutlery without disturbing the flow of conversation; nothing more than pebble in the stream. A few moments later he returned, a steaming white dish held in cloth covered hands. It didn't really look like much, a faintly mauve coloured creamy rice dish, that looked almost dirty when compared to the crisp white of the china and the vibrant green of the sprig of rosemary garnish; but the aroma wafting up with the heat was _divine_. Ianto couldn't help but lean in and take a deep lungful of the scent, warm and woodsy.

"It smells wonderful," Webb sighed.

Looking up from his position over his bowl, Ianto caught the hungry gleam in Webb's eyes. He couldn't imagine how hard it must be to want to taste food that smelled so beautiful, but knowing the taste was probably overwhelming. Hesitantly, guiltily, Ianto picked up his fork and gently scooped up some of the delicate dish.

The flavour was exquisite. It was deceptive, no harsh flavours or tang smacking the taste-buds. Instead it was gentle and soft. Thick and slightly creamy, the risotto rested comfortably on his tongue; teasing his taste buds with full earthy tones and flavours and something that tasted almost wild. Untamed. Rich and cloying it reminded him of Jack; exotic but so very familiar and safe.

But it wasn't strong. There was no harsh salt or rich garlic and pepper to assail the taste-buds.

Hesitantly he scooped up another forkful, cupping his palm under it, he leaned across the table and offered it to the vampire.

"It's not strong." He smiled. "And besides, you did order it."

Webb laughed. "That I did." He looked at Ianto, the heart-rending wary, lonely, look in his eyes, and the proffered fork. "Well, how can refuse such an offer?" He smirked and then swooped down on the fork.

Ianto watched anxiously as the vampire rolled the food round his mouth, eyes closed and a concentrated frown on his face. A blissful expression suddenly rose up, like sun coming out from behind the clouds, and Webb's eyes fluttered open.

"Truly divine." He grinned wolfishly at Ianto, "I have wonderful taste."

Ianto raised an eyebrow, but couldn't help the small twitch of a smile on his lips. He pushed the dish into the centre of the table, knocking the candle off to the side. "Please, help yourself."

Webb rolled his eyes, "Oh, but this is going straight to my hips."

Ianto shook his head, "Are all immortals vain?"

"Only the good looking ones."

Mock glaring, Ianto jabbed a fork in Webb's direction. "Eat."

Between them, they polished off the risotto much faster than Ianto had managed the bruschetta. Ianto was glad of the help with the meal. The dish wasn't overly large but it was rich and filling, resting warm and heavy in his belly. The perfect meal for a cold autumn night, and it left him feeling sated and happy. In fact, for the first time in months, Ianto felt perfectly content.

And he'd found it in talking to a stranger (albeit a dangerous one) on a lonely night.

Sometimes they all needed to talk to someone outside of Torchwood. Ianto had never tried it but suddenly he could understand why Gwen had turned to Owen (as strange as it had been at the time) and Suzie sought out Pilgrim. The freedom that came from just talking, and not all of it about aliens or tears in Time and Space was awesome. Ianto hadn't spoken really to anyone outside of Torchwood for nearly four years. He'd left university and his life and walked straight into the maelstrom of Torchwood. And only now was he realising what he had lost.

However, one thing had been ticking at the back of his mind for some time now, filtering its way through like his morning coffee did in the percolator. Finally, he found a way to voice it.

"You aren't gods though. How do you choose who lives and who dies? Who walks away and who becomes a vampire?"

"An excellent question my young friend." Webb stretched and leaned back into his seat, leaving his fork balanced on the edge of the dish. "You are correct, we are no gods. Nor do we pretend to be. We are governed by laws and rules just like any other living thing. Those we kill or leave to live, well we can tell – if it's their time. If the line of their life isn't at an end, we have no right, no power to sever it. If it is, then we are simply nature's heralds."

"That's it? It's up to Fate?" Ianto asked, incredulously.

"I wouldn't call it Fate, but if it makes the idea more palatable for you then by all means."

Wide eyed, Ianto shook his head. "And what about those you turn?"

"Ah, well that is different. You see, not everyone has what it takes to be a vampire."

"How so?"

The vampire leaned forwards, arms crossed and resting on the table, and Ianto unconsciously mirrored his actions.

"Quite simply, as all human beings are physically the same, allowing for some margin of error here and there, the real differences, the important ones lie up here." He tapped his forehead with a long finger.

"The brain?"

"No, the mind." Webb took a sip of water. "The mind is a powerful tool Ianto. It can be our best friend or worst enemy. You see it all the time in those suffering from some mental affliction. Physically they are fine, but the mind is sick and it inflicts its pestilence upon their entire existence. It doesn't matter what you say or do, once the mind warps, it takes more than pretty words and rest to coax it back."

"So I'm aware." He knew all to well how sick the mind could become.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to bring up bad memories. You loved her dearly."

"She was my mother and she is not relevant to this conversation."

Webb raised an eyebrow and inclined his head, "As you wish."

There was an awkward silence, almost as heavy and oppressive as the one that had begun their evening. For a few moments, neither moved nor spoke. Ianto lost to the past and the memories of his mother in _that_ place. Webb, staring idly at the flame of the candle, almost burned out now, but the light was still strong. In his hand, he nursed his water as if it were the finest cognac.

"You were saying?" Ianto asked, voice slightly choked, but being forced into normal neutrality.

"Ah, yes. Well, really, it all boils down to the simply premise that some minds are capable of withstanding the pressure of time. They are strong, they thrive in gathering information. They can exist alone. They don't need constant companionship to ease the way."

"Oh… Jack…" Ianto's voice was soft, barely audible, and so very mournful. He'd never thought, never imagined that immortality would damage his lover. Jack was a literal 'Jack-in-the-Box", bouncing back from anything. The harder he was hit, like a yo-yo being thrown to the full extent of its cord, the longer it took to come back. But he always came back.

But what if, every time he went away, disappeared for those agonising few seconds, he left a little piece behind? What if every time someone he loved was lost, or left, what if that stole another little piece of Jack? What if eventually, thousands of years in the future there was nothing left of the man Ianto knew but skin and bone and flesh and an eternally beating heart. All that mind, that wonderful character and spirit gone, left behind in the dark that Jack and Suzie claimed as all there was after death.

Softly, almost timidly, Webb's concerned voice, dulcet and sweet, broke through Ianto's melancholy. "Jack?"

"My… well, I suppose, the easiest way to describe him would be my boss."

The vampire narrowed his eyes at Ianto. He could obviously tell that there was more to the relationship than merely that of employer/employee. It was there in the hesitance and heartbreak that shadowed his words. "He is more to you than that."

Ianto winced. He didn't want to talk about Jack: because everything in his life eventually came back to Jack screwing Harkness. His job, his home, his friends; all of them were tainted by Jack. The only thing that was sacrosanct from the time-travelling captain was his parents; and only then because they were dead. "Yes… no… It's complicated," he hedged.

"I have time."

Ianto growled, quietly, but still well within the hearing of the vampire, who chuckled, enjoying the rare show of passion from his reticent companion. Ianto shot him a black look, which merely caused Webb to smile. Glaring harder, Ianto tried, by the weight of his stare alone, to dissuade the other man from continuing with his line of questioning. Webb simply met the look with a passive one of his own. Equal weights, but for Ianto it was like pushing against quicksand. With a huff of air and slump of shoulders, Ianto rolled his eyes and admitted defeat.

"So does he," he sighed. Reaching over the table he grasped his wine glass and took a deep swig. If he was going to delve into the quagmire of his so-called relationship with Jack he was going to do so with some Dutch courage behind him. "That's the problem. He's immortal."

Webb's eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath the shaggy fronds of his fringe. Leaning forward he hissed, "A vampire?"

Ianto shook his head, small smug smile at Webb's show of character. He'd begun to think of the vampire as nothing more than a placid doll, merely going through the motions and not experiencing anything. "No. He can't die. Something happened and no matter what you do, Jack doesn't stay dead. You could shoot him, stab him, crush him, push him, hang, drown, smother or starve him and he just keeps coming back." As Ianto recounted the ways in which he knew, from the Archives, Jack had died, he found his tone turning bitter and mocking.

He didn't want to feel like that about Jack.

"Why is this a problem?" Webb's fine face was crumpled into a confused frown and Ianto was suddenly struck by the fact that the man must have been only his age, maybe Owen's at a push, when he was killed.

"It's not; not for me. It's comforting, knowing that he can't be taken from me too. Well, not like that at least."

He'd lost so many: his grandparents, Mam then Tad following her a few years later, then Lisa and all that he'd known at Torchwood One. All he had left was Torchwood Three and Ianto hated the knowledge that one day, tomorrow perhaps, Gwen, Owen and Tosh would be taken from him too. Stolen in the night by gunshot, Weevil or something else, something from beyond, and he'd never see them again. Jack was a safety blanket in that world, one he could hold until it was time for him to let go.

"Death hasn't been kind to you." Webb observed; a measure of empathy, not pity, in his words.

"Is death ever kind?" Ianto questioned, honestly surprised that Death could ever be considered magnanimous.

"It can be. For some it's a release."

Ianto disagreed. "Not for those left behind."

"Ah, but what about those whom death frees? The wives of dangerous men? The children of abusive parents? The subjects of a tyrant? I am sure they would disagree with you."

"Perhaps." Ianto took another draught of his wine.

Webb waved his hands and grinned. "But we are not here to argue the philosophies of death and man. We are here to discuss other things. Jack for one."

"Yes." Ianto nodded. "From what you say, all I can imagine is that Jack is one of those who aren't meant for immortality. He was meant to live and die. He wasn't built to last, and ironically, it's killing him."

"I imagine it would," Webb commented with a sorrowful calm. "That is the reason why a man unsuited to immortality is never offered it. They crumble to dust or madness and they would take us with them."

"But people know of vampires already."

"They know of aliens too. It doesn't mean that they believe." Webb pointed out with a wry smile, idly unfolding the napkin in the place setting before him

"Some do," Ianto said, Eugene Jones and his Eye immediately springing to mind.

"True." He nodded, eyes focused on the napkin he was folding. "And are they welcomed in society?"

Point. No, people like Eugene were not welcomed. They were tolerated at best. At worst they were mocked and persecuted and pushed so far they ran out in front of cars.

Webb looked up suddenly, napkin forgotten and speared Ianto with his expression. Ianto knew, purely from the feverish light in Webb's eyes and his zealous visage, that what he was about to hear was some kind of universal truth. A secret known only to those who had the _time_ to observe it come to pass.

"Most humans are meant simply to be bright sparks illuminating the paths of time. Torches that light the way to Immortality, that flame and burn so fiercely before fading away. Some are lucky, burning so fast and so potent that they echo through time, their light reaching into the farthest and blackest points. Remembered for their brilliance or their violence they carry on, like light from the furthest star, reaching out to humans long after they are gone." Webb's voice was soft and sibilant, so aged. Wise. And it carried Ianto away.

"But, if you take a mind not meant for the paths of time, and trap it in an immortal shell, denying it the respite of death, the mind withers faster than the body. And all you are left with is a body housing a sick and twisted mind."

Ianto felt sick. Is that what Jack would become? After eternities on earth and wherever else he ended up, would he be nothing more than a shell of madness?

"Humans, normal ones, are social creatures," Webb's voice turned cold. Harsh, desperate even. "They thrive in packs or pairs, no matter how much they claim to enjoy their space, they crave the companionship and comfort that another of their kind offers. And that isn't how immortality works. Immortality is a journey you take alone."

"But then… surely Jack would crave love and companionship? If human minds aren't meant to be alone, why does he push me away?" Ianto all but begged the being across from him. Desperate for some words that would comfort and enlighten him.

"Because," the vampire intoned softly, sweetly, "Along with the ability to survive alone, comes the ability to love and let go. Humans cling equally to the grief love brings as well as the euphoria. They see both sides. Vampires, we naturally filter out the bad after a time." He smiled and shook his head, disturbing the morose air that had settled over them. "We aren't heartless, just built to survive."

Ianto could understand that. After Lisa, immediately after her death, when the weight of Torchwood One fell on him like stone and crushed him under its grief, Ianto thought he'd never survive. That he'd never breathe again. Not two months later though, the pain had dulled and when he thought of Lisa all he had seen were brilliant smiles, Sunday morning newspapers in bed and endless re-runs of _Friends_. He'd almost forgotten the metal shell she became.

"I imagine your friend doesn't allow anyone close because he has to lose them. And once they are gone, all he has is the grief. I can't imagine how difficult that must be."

Neither could Ianto.

"He lied then." Ianto's voice was quiet, and not a little hurt. He stirred his coffee, twice clockwise, once anticlockwise, then back to the clockwise.

"Excuse me?"

Webb too had a cup of coffee, but his was just for the aroma, not the taste. Ianto had ordered it, citing the vampire's admission of loving the smell. He reasoned that he loved the taste and was quite capable of drinking more than one cup before heading into the night.

"Oh, sorry," the young human replied, as if just realising that he'd spoken out loud. "I was just thinking about what you said. About love and immortality."

"Yes?"

"You were being truthful I take it." Ianto tapped his spoon on the rim of the cup before laying it on his saucer.

"I have no reason to lie to you. Tonight, all your questions I will answer to the best of my ability. It is the only way this will work."

Ianto sighed, "Then, as far as I can tell, Jack must have lied to me."

"How so?"

"You have to understand, Jack's not from here."

"He's not Welsh?"

Ianto laughed, long and deep. "Most definitely not! I don't even think he can say Cymru without getting it wrong, and he's been here for over a century!"

"Appalling."

"I quite agree."

"Well, I haven't been here quite as long, only a few years, but I at least I can say _noswaith__dda_ and _hwyl_. And I believe I know what _Hen __Wlad__fy__Nhadau_and _dw__i'n__dy__garu__di_ and _cariad_ mean."

The phrases made Ianto smile. "I think that you have the important ones down then. And it's more than Jack."

"So, he was the American then? The one talking to you before you left?"

Ianto nodded, a little unnerved that Webb had been following him for so long. "He's not from America though; I don't even think he's from Earth to be honest."

"An alien?"

"Not according to him. He claims he's human, but he's from another time."

"The future I imagine."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well," Webb leaned back into his chair. His posture was verging on a slouch, but much more refined and careless and nowhere near as vulgar. "As a creature from a different time myself, I can only imagine that he could fit in well if he were moving backwards rather than forwards. Its easy if you move as time does, but being from another time and ending up here, well, I can only imagine that being from the future would allow you to cope better than being from the past."

Ianto nodded, accepting the flawless logic of Webb's argument. "Jack's from the 51st century, although, I don't know where and I don't even have a real when. Just the 51st century, a hundred years and unknown miles."

"I see. So, why did he lie?"

"Once, not long after we had started our – _thing_ – we, well the team at least, were discussing love and sex and it was a quiet day and Gwen, she's the ex-police woman."

"I remember."

"Sorry."

"No, you're being considerate."

"Thank you. Anyway, Gwen was questioning how Jack and Owen could be so casual about sex. How they could divorce themselves from the emotion of it. I agreed with her to be honest, but that's beside the point. Owen was using medicine to support his argument, talking about the physiological benefits of sex. Jack though, Jack was different."

"He hurt you." Webb could hear the pain in Ianto's voice. Pain he was desperately trying to hide.

"I let him. I knew, even before I came to Cardiff, that Jack had a reputation but I still let him in." Ianto was furious, at himself, at Jack, but mostly at himself. His words weren't his usual soft spoken and sexy Welsh vowels. They were harsh and angry and he was practically spitting. "He claims that where he's from, that distant 51st century, that sex and love are different to how they are now. That they mean less. That you can love more than one person at a time, sleep with more than one person at a time, that monogamy and jealousy are non-existent or at least very rare and that everyone is ok with it."

"And you don't believe it?"

Ianto shook his head, shoulders slumped in despair. He could feel tears misting in his eyes and scrubbed his face. "I don't know. I hope… I hope it's not true because despite what Jack says, it must be a very lonely way to be. Knowing that you aren't loved above all others by someone."

"And now you wonder whether it's the immortality and loneliness that has influenced your _friend_."

"Wouldn't you? Surely it's easier to admit that monogamy isn't practised where you come from than that you are afraid to love because you will be left behind."

"Maybe your friend is telling the truth."

Ianto smirked. "Devil's advocate? Isn't that a little clichéd for a vampire?"

Webb smiled. "Perhaps. But that doesn't change my point. Perhaps Jack is telling the truth."

"I can't believe that." Ianto was forceful, his head was shaking and his jaw set.

"Why not?"

"It simply isn't logical."

"How so." Webb was implacably calm. It reminded him of Tosh, logical and straightforward, even in a crisis.

Ianto paused and stared into the dark depths of his coffee. When he spoke, it was as if he was following his train of thought, feeling his way along, word by word, thought by thought. "Humans, modern man at least, have only been around for what a hundred thousand years? Yet in many ways, our primitive emotions are still very much intact. We fear the dark and wild animals because at one point in our history they were deadly to us. Wolves haven't been in Britain for hundreds of years and yet the tale of Little Red Riding Hood can still scare a child witless. We haven't evolved mentally for millennia. We're not afraid of cars or guns or aeroplanes so much as we are of heights and pain and small spaces. And I can't believe, the genetic memory that makes love and monogamy so precious now, will have changed in three thousand years. Can you?"

Webb seemed to weigh his thoughts carefully. "You are right. I have seen many ages of man pass during my life time and essentially, humans have changed very little. Your fears and emotions are the same as they were when I was human. I remember the rage of jealousy all too well," his smile was fond, "but your reasoning has two flaws as far as I can see."

"Really."

"I'm afraid so."

Webb reached for his coffee and inhaled deeply, drinking in the rich, full scent. Ianto watched him, eyes narrowing and his mouth tightening as he realised that the vampire wasn't about to extrapolate on his thought.

"Are you going to enlighten me?"

"I wouldn't want to shatter your righteous indignation."

Ianto wanted to growl, or maybe throw something, at the lofty expression on Webb's face. Instead he decided to put him straight. Admit what he was feeling and hope it was convincing.

"It's not righteous indignation, nowhere near. It's… shame I suppose. Of myself, of Jack, of the human race. Of what we become."

"If you say so."

"I do. What are the flaws?"

"They're simple really. The first is that humans are not alone. Not in the universe, not even on this planet. I can't imagine that for the next three thousand years, if we can master time travel, we don't communicate with other races."

"Cross breeding?" That thought hadn't occurred to Ianto. It should have, they were after all living in an age where genetics were the final frontier and DNA was a scientist's playground.

"To an extent. Perhaps, your Jack, and the people he knew, the humans he knew, aren't pure Homo Sapiens as you are. Perhaps, even with all my differences, I am more similar to you than he is. Perhaps it is the alien in the human race that changes their outlooks."

Ianto took a moment to digest this. "And the other?"

"Random mutation."

Ianto frowned. "I don't follow."

Webb was silent for a moment, his face pursed in contemplation.

"Queen Victoria was the daughter of two normal healthy people. Yet, we know that she infected every royal house of Europe with haemophilia. Now, either her father wasn't in fact her father or she suffered a one in a million mutation. It can happen. It does happen. Children with extra limbs or reversed organs are born every day. There are even reports of cats with wings simply because of nuclear radiation. In three thousand years can't you imagine that there might be some small tweaks that shift the human race exponentially?"

And he could. He could see how humans going into space, colonising other planets, living off alien food, all of it, could combine to change what humans were. He felt like a child. It was a logical, rational argument, the type that he was paid and trained to come up with. Yet he hadn't. He hadn't _wanted _to.

"I think, perhaps, I was too caught up in my own thoughts and feelings to consider a logical argument," he admitted, a flush of embarrassment in his voice.

Webb smiled indulgently. "Ah, but you are only human Ianto, and very much in love."


	3. Hot knife through butter

**Thank you Dana Jane, laal ratty and deetatarant for your lovely reviews! This is for you!**

**Warning**: things start to get a little dark from here...

* * *

**Chapter Three  
**

"So," Webb said, watching as Ianto pushed his cup and saucer away. There was still some coffee left in the bottom of the cup, but the young man seemed to have finished. Which meant the pleasant portion of their evening was at an end.

There was work to do.

"You're going to ask me." Ianto's eyes were fixed firmly on the candlelight bouncing off his wine glass and the dull ruby glow of the liquid. Staring into it's depths he tried to lose himself in the liquid.

Webb's true intentions had hung over the evening like an on-coming storm. Since they had sat down the air had been thick with a tension, a heated weight that just seemed to build no matter how obtuse they were towards it. Even the waiting staff seemed aware, not lingering when taking Ianto's order or hovering to offer more wine. They stayed away.

"I am."

"I think you already know my answer."

"I do," Webb's voice gave nothing away. He could be totally indifferent for all Ianto could tell. This could all be just a whim and passing fancy, no more permanent or life changing than a soft breeze.

"Then why ask?"

"Because it's not in my nature to leave things unsaid Mr Jones. When you have so much time, you learn to appreciate the value of speaking your mind. There is too much time to dwell on obscure comments and oblique references."

Ianto thought he could understand that. Jack was unusually forthright about his opinions and beliefs (unless of course the topic was himself and then he became enigmatic and charming and skilfully steered the coracle of conversation down a different stream).

"Then I suppose you must ask." Ianto dabbed at the edges of his mouth with the heavy linen napkin and then laid it on one side, folded neatly. It was good cloth and deserved some respect, even if its only use was to clean up after everyone. At times, that was the most important and hardest of all jobs; to erase mess and leave not a trace behind.

Webb leaned across the table, his elbows resting lightly upon the polished wood, his chin propped on his folded hands. He smiled, intimate and familiar, his eyes gleamed in the flickering light, sharp as a cats and as faceted as a flawed diamond; he beckoned for Ianto to move closer, to join him. And Ianto did so.

"Ianto Jones, how do you feel about eternal life?" The words were trite, tacky almost, heard in so many movies over so many years and yet, the smile on Webb's face made it sound like the sweetest promise.

Seduction rolled over Ianto and for a moment he considered the offer. To never die, to never change – it was a fantastically terrific notion. Terrific in the truest sense of the word: it inspired terror. Jack made immortality out to be his curse, his albatross. As if he were no more than the damned captain of the _Dutchman_ and his penance was never ending. Yet, as Ianto had worked out for himself, Jack had forced the penance upon himself. There was no-one making him live the life he chose. There was no rule book stating he couldn't tell someone about his uniqueness. He chose to lock himself in the prison of his own immortality.

He wasn't dead. He was _alive_. He just refused to live. Jack cursed himself to endless death rather than taking each day as the gift it was meant to be. He had so much. He could do so much, without fear or concern for the passage of time. He could explore all avenues and all times and yet he saw it as a curse.

Ianto's immortality didn't have to be the same. He didn't have to trap himself away in the Hub, wishing and never trying. Yes, loss would hurt, but surely a love lost would be better than a love never known? Memories of love would eventually chase away the chill of grief, given time. Normal humans had to risk that all the time. And they had less time to seek out love a second time.

He could hear the whispers that stroked around his mind, suggesting, convincing, mentioning all he could do, all he could learn, if he had time immeasurable. All he had to do was take Webb's hand and give himself over to Fate and her desires. Webb and his thirst.

But he couldn't. He was Ianto Jones, Torchwood Three's Archivist and Tea-boy. He wasn't meant for a remarkable existence. He was the son of a tailor, and to the rest of the world, he would die as the son of a tailor. Nothing more.

He couldn't take Webb's offering; he was no Faust and he suspected that this Mephistopheles was more dangerous. After all, at least Faust knew the deal he was entering into. Other than eternity and blood, Ianto had no idea of what being a vampire meant, and no desire to learn.

"I think that I am unsuited to such a proposition. Flattering though it is." Impulsively he reached over and took Webb's hand. He'd sensed a need in the vampire from the moment he had revealed himself, and Ianto hated to dampen that flame. But he had no choice. "I wish I could accept, but I don't think that immortality and I are meant for one another. Perhaps, in another time and place, my answer would have been different."

A memory stirred, flittered through his synapses and flashed behind his eyes.

"You'd have accepted me before. If only I had chanced upon you two moons ago." His thumb softly stroked Ianto's hand. "Had I offered this to you then, whilst he was gone, you'd have accepted."

It wasn't a question, and Ianto didn't need to ask who _he_ was. And Webb was right; Ianto would have accepted him then. And the guilt built, rolling like the waves that join and form a tsunami. He could feel it in his gut and the bitterly-sweet sensation of it in the back of his throat. Damn Jack. He impacted on so many lives and in so many ways and chose to remain as untouched as marble.

"I would. I'm sorry but I would." He shook his head as the guilt swarmed into his sinuses and built pressure in his ears. "I would have taken your offer. But I can't, not now."

"Because of Jack." Webb's words were heavy, the funeral knell of the conversation.

There was no point in denying it. Instead Ianto squeezed Webb's hand. "I'm sorry."

Webb curled his own long fingers around Ianto's and brought his hand up to his mouth. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of Ianto's hand and Ianto was mesmerised. It was like something out of a gothic romance.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. And he cursed Jack and his feelings for the man.

"Do not trouble yourself so." Webb was smiling now, his hand still wrapped around Ianto's. "I had to ask. You, Ianto Jones have the ability to last forever."

Webb firmly stated that he was paying the bill, so Ianto left the restaurant and headed for the cold outdoors. It had stopped raining, but it was still cold enough for him to pull the collar of his coat up around his ears and bury his hands into his deep pockets. Webb had told him to go on ahead; he'd settle their account and then walk Ianto to his car. _After all_, he'd warned, _there are many dangerous things in the night_. So Ianto meandered on ahead, strolling slowly, in no hurry to be anywhere.

There was a loud bang and crackle and Ianto turned his head to the sky. Fireworks: red and pink and gold sparkling against the night sky. False stars. Ianto loved fireworks. His parents had taken him to the neighbourhood bonfire every year; his Mam baked potatoes and forbade him from having too much bonfire toffee. His Tad would always buy coloured sparklers and spent ages with him writing their names in the night skies.

He'd been happy then. Things were safe and simple and the vampires and aliens belonged in the movies.

As he watched, there was another burst of colour and crackle of light and the sky rained jewelled drops down on Cardiff. It was beautiful, and Ianto watched it with childish fixation.

A hand clamped over his mouth and an arm of steel wrapped around his body. He struggled, squirming and wriggling like a worm on a hook, but his captor was too strong. It was like being held in a vice; the arm around his waist preventing him from moving his hips in any way, the one around his mouth tightening enough to threaten snapping his neck. Feebly he kicked backwards, but he couldn't really bend that way and all it resulted in was his foot brushing against strong calves.

And laughter. His struggles produced laughter.

Suddenly they moved, one minute not far from the door of the restaurant, the next, further down the alley, pressed into a doorway. For a second the world had spun away and Ianto had been lost in a swirl of colour and light and he'd thought that the street was spinning around him. It wasn't until Ianto could feel the wet, cold brickwork at his back, that he realised he'd been spinning around the world. He blinked owlishly, his brain still rattling around in his skull and it took a few moments for his vision to stop whirly-gigging. He felt sea sick and wanted to curl up and press his head to a cold floor.

But he couldn't. Because there was still an arm around his waist and the very definite press of a man against is front. He could have cried when his vision cleared enough for him to recognise the two amber eyes, mocking and _alive_, staring at him.

Ianto almost sagged in relief and willed his heart to calm down. It was just Webb.

Webb's hand remained clamped over Ianto's mouth, his arm tightened round Ianto's waist, pulling them flush together. Lovers in a doorway on a dampened street. It was almost romantic. Dipping his head, Webb nuzzled into the arch of Ianto's neck, swan white and slightly raspy with the beginnings of stubble. Flesh here always smelled the sweetest, so crisp and vibrant, the constant thrum of life just below the fragile membrane of skin.

"Did you think that it would be so easy Ianto Jones?" he purred into Ianto's throat. "That I would simply offer immortality to someone I had no intention of turning anyway? I merely asked as a formality, to be _polite_. Your answer was irrelevant." All the gentleness and calm was gone from Webb's voice and he was hissing now at Ianto, like a cat.

Ianto felt the cool breath on his neck, and he shuddered. He thrashed, or he tried to, but all he managed was to undulate against Webb, and the vampire pressed more deeply into him.

The breath ghosted to his ear and Ianto could feel tears in his eyes and the retch of fear and he was shaking. He could feel it starting at his toes and spreading as if his body was one massive fault line. He'd never been so scared in his life. Even out in the middle of nowhere, being bludgeoned by a bat, he'd managed to keep a tattered thread of calm. But he'd lost his hold on it now, and he was coming unravelled so rapidly, like a ball of wool, and he didn't think he could get back.

The hand moved from his mouth, trailed, soft fingertip soft, down his throat. Hooking under his jaw, Webb pushed Ianto's head up and to the side, exposing the long line of his neck to its fullest. His eyes fastened on the little throbbing vein he could see pulsing below the surface, rippling its way along the skin as the blood, warm wet crimson nectar, flowed where it was needed.

"Why?" Ianto choked on the word, tears flowing free now, breathing compromised by the tight hold and fingers in his throat.

"Because I choose to." Mocking and blasé and Ianto felt the world slide out from under him.

"You can't!"

"You'll find that I am quite capable in actual fact."

Webb had mocked him earlier for his righteous indignation about Jack. Here it was again, like a life rope on a choppy sea and Ianto clung to it, to the spark of anger that came with it, and he tried to drown in that instead of his fear. He would go down fighting, screaming and raising all levels of hell if he had to.

"You've no right!"

Webb laughed. Such childish words, ones he'd heard millions of times over the years. Such fury. Such passion. And only when Death loomed, proud and pale before them, did they give in to it. He licked a long flat stripe up Ianto's neck, tasting the fear sweetened salt of sweat and the richness of his blood beneath. The man wore no aftershave, bathed in no artificial perfume, so Webb was treated to the full flavour of Ianto Jones.

"Right or wrong doesn't really apply here. Like I said earlier – our differences lie not in our mortalities but in our moralities."

"You also said that you were no god," his voice trembled, denial and fear warring and ripping through him. Ianto felt like a ragdoll in a hurricane, tossed and turned and no way out. Trapped in a swirling vortex of power unimaginable, his fear black and bruised as a storm covered sky.

Webb stayed in Ianto's throat, peppering the skin with butterfly kisses, mopping up all the tangy fear he could get at. The boy was so rich. So _young_. So broken. Thousands of shattered pieces that, like a broken mirror trapped in its frame were only held in place by the pressure of the unyielding border. Webb could break him; smatter him into millions of minute pieces that could never be put back together.

"Oh, I admit, I'm not a god." His lips moved against Ianto's skin, soft velvet of lips caressing the prickly stubbled skin. He lingered over the pulse point, hot and thrumming. His Siren. "But as far as you are concerned my sweet, I might as well be. Your life is quite literally in my hands. I could choose to set you free, choose to turn you or simply snap your neck and leave your lifeless corpse in a doorway to be tripped over by the milkman."

"Then do it!" he hissed.

Webb pulled away, still holding Ianto tightly, to look into Ianto's eyes. The pupils were blown, wide and black, just a hint of blue. His mouth was clamped shut, thin white slash across his face. His skin was pale, even in the yellow street light and there was a light sweat on his brow. Webb narrowed his eyes, cocking his head to one side and appraised Ianto, small smile on his face. "Do what?"

His flippancy galvanised Ianto into action. The young man's body thrashed as if it were connected to a live wire. "Kill me! Take my life! End it now!" Ianto screamed: taking perverse pleasure in the wince of pain Webb gave as the volume torn at his sensitive hearing. "I don't want to be a vampire!"

"Haven't you been listening Ianto?" He pulled the young man closer, cradling him now; speaking softly like one would to a child or pet. "What you want doesn't matter. It's what I want that's important." He leaned even closer, so he was whispering straight into Ianto's ear. "And I have wanted to turn you since the moment I saw you. So pretty and restrained; yet you burn Mr Jones."

Somewhere deep inside Ianto a dam broke. His body flooded with numbing hopeless fear and he went limp in Webb's arms. Only once had he felt this utterly desolate, after the team had executed Lisa. Tears were streaking down his cheeks and his heavy deadened limbs were shuddering, shock or tears, he didn't know. "You lied." His voice was a whisper. He had no energy for anything more. "Everything you said was a lie."

Webb had lied. In the most grotesque of ways. He'd done to Ianto exactly what Ianto had done to Torchwood Three, to Jack. He'd hidden his true nature. Now Ianto knew how much it had to have hurt them. _Now_, Ianto could understand just how threatening he'd seemed to them. And it hurt his heart. A vice of shame and conscience that he felt he'd drown in.

But he pushed it away. Now wasn't the time for that. Tomorrow he'd apologise. Tomorrow he'd make things right. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. As long as he lived through tonight.

Delicately Webb ran his hand through the short dark hair. "No, not everything. You had no choice, but you were made for immortality. You are one of the rare few that are, and I can't let you waste that gift."

"It's no gift: it's a curse."

Webb nodded. "We shall see."

Ianto didn't have time to do anything. Webb swept forward, all the momentum and strength of a tsunami, and sunk his fangs into the soft flesh of Ianto's throat. The skin gave easily, like a hot knife through butter, and Ianto gasped as the twin needles of pure searing heat invaded him. Cold spread out from the bite, racing down his veins. He felt his knees buckle, heard Webb moan obscenely and drag him closer and then…


	4. Never Dying

**Thanks to deetatarant, laal ratty and Dana Jane for your reviews... if your enjoying this please let me know, if you want me to go away and stop bothering you, please let me know! Cheers.  
**

**Warning... things get a little nasty from here!**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Ianto hurtled back into consciousness; like a diver surfacing from the deep having pushed his oxygen deprivation to the limit. His heart was pounding, his lungs burning as he dragged oxygen into his starved lungs. Looking wildly around he managed to notice that he was in his bedroom, in his bed, before his eyes lit upon his window. It was open, cold night air fluttering in through the partially closed curtains and he desperately wanted to be there.

Dragging his sweat soaked body from his bed as fast as he could, Ianto fell to the floor, his sheets twisted and twined around his legs. His knees hit the carpet hard enough to burn, but he barely felt it. He didn't have time for the shock of pain, he needed to get to the window. He twisted and turned, writhing on the floor desperate to get the sheet off from around his knees. His shoulder slammed into the nightstand, rattling the lamp, but after a valiant struggle he freed himself.

Throwing the sash wide open, he stuck his head out and drank in huge lung-fuls of air. The air was cold and damp, and it shocked his bare skin. It was only then that he realised that he was in his baggy cotton pyjama bottoms. Turning so that he could see into his own room he took in the sight of his water glass, three-quarter's full on its customary coaster on the nightstand, his book, bookmark in place, on the floor and his mussed up bed. Actually his bed held his attention.

It wasn't merely mussed, it looked as though war had been waged in it. One of his pillows had been stripped of its coverlet and was lying forlornly on the floor, another was stuffed up the wall and the third he'd obviously been curled around as it was in the middle of the bed. The duvet was kicked down to the bottom of the bed, the comforter balled up in the corner between the headboard and nightstand and his sheets had given up and ghost and the elasticised corners had come away from the mattress. His bed hadn't even gotten into that state on the few occasions Jack had stayed the night.

The only time it had been in such a state was the night after Lisa had died, when he'd woken up screaming and burning in the fires of Torchwood One.

So, he drank another lungful of air, it had just been a nightmare. Nothing more than a nightmare. He laughed weakly. Those late nights with Owen, beer and curry and an endless supply of B horror movies were bound to catch up with him eventually. Neither of them were ever in the mood for romance or comedy after days at the Hub chasing after aliens or wondering about Jack.

It was just a nightmare. He repeated the mantra over and over to himself, letting the cold air wash it all away on the night breeze. He still felt sick and his heart was still racing but he was calming. By morning, he'd be chuckling over coffee at his rampant imagination.

"You'll catch your death."

Ianto froze. No, it was a nightmare. It wasn't _real_. Slowly, gripping the sill and then the curtains for support he turned, hoping to god that it was Jack and that he was just hearing things.

No, no, nononononono.

Webb was stood in the doorway. His shirt untucked and loosened, his shoes obviously kicked off somewhere in Ianto's flat and he was wearing striped, multicoloured socks. It was that innocuous little thing that held his attention as he stumbled away from the window, sliding down and squashing himself between the bedside cabinet and the wall, eyes wide and fixed. He hugged his knees, staring vacantly at the socks, green, pink, blue, yellow, green, pink, blue, yellow, greenpinkblueyellow…

He barely noticed as Webb padded towards him and hunkered down, crouching before the semi-catatonic man. Webb grabbed his chin, forcing Ianto to look at him. He watched as Ianto's face paled, his eyes widened and barely had chance to clap his hand over the young man's mouth before Ianto could scream.

"Now, you listen to me Ianto Jones. I am going to remove my hand in a moment, and you can scream all you want." His smile was ugly, vicious. Like his words. "However, I fear I must warn you that I will kill anyone who walks through that door. Police or neighbour, I will tear their throats out."

Ianto giggled. A burble of laughter that was born from his complete and all-encompassing fear. His mind had shut down and vacated his body a long while ago, and all that was left was the deep bone-chilling nothing and the steady surge of adrenaline. He could hear drums in his ears and there was something dripping down his neck.

"So are you going to scream?"

Ianto's head flopped from side to side. He was trying to say no. He thought he was trying to say no. He didn't know anymore though.

"Good boy."

"Doesn't matter anyway," he giggled, "No one would come." Except Mrs Lloyd from next door, but she was deaf and probably wouldn't have her hearing aide in.

Webb stroked over Ianto's hair, smoothing it down. Hysteria was an old favourite with those about to die and he much preferred it to maudlin weeping and begging and turning to God. Ianto leaned into the touch, almost nuzzled at the hand on his cheek.

"I thought you were going to kill me," he whispered, blue eyes calm but no one was really there.

"I am," Webb whispered back.

"No your not," he giggled.

Webb smiled, slightly perturbed but mostly amused by Ianto's inane reaction to the situation. "Yes I am."

Ianto shook his head and his eyes cleared. There was a crack and something slammed into Webb's shoulder. He briefly saw the gun in Ianto's hand before the man was up and over him, racing for the bedroom door.

Webb caught him just as he was grabbing his mobile, his finger paused over the call button the name 'Jack' highlighted. Wrenching the phone from Ianto's clutching finger's he through it at the wall, watching with satisfaction as it shattered and scattered over the floor. Ianto struggled in his grasp, kicking and bucking and violently trying to get free of Webb's embrace. Webb merely pushed him into the wall and wrapped a hand around the wrist of the hand holding the gun, squeezing until the bones creaked and Ianto had no choice but to let it go.

It dropped to the floor with a dull thud.

"As much as I would like to see my dear Jack again, I think we're best left alone for the time being. We'll get to him eventually."

Ianto froze.

"You know Jack?" his voice cracked on the man's name. He knew that had he been able just to call him, just get the phone ringing Jack would have come. They never rang one another unless they had to. Jack didn't even use phone calls to flirt. He'd send dirty text messages if he wanted to do that. Phone calls were for serious business.

Webb chuckled and it vibrated through Ianto's frame. They were stood, pressed together, Ianto trapped between the solid marble of Webb and the plaster of the wall and he wanted to scream. He could feel the pressure rising in his chest, clutching at his throat. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't bring someone else into this mess. If Jack had come it'd have been different. He'd have burst in, guns blazing, and gotten up from any hit delivered to him.

Jack's life mattered, but he, at least, had more than one.

"I know Jack."

"How?"

"It's a long tale and we don't have the time."

"Please." He turned his head slightly, willing Webb to see the utter desolation on his face and feel something, _anything_. He forced a smile. "Last request of a dying man?"

Webb gave him a toothy grin, canines long and white. "You're not dying Ianto. Not ever."

His fangs flashed ivory daggers in the corner of Ianto's vision before they were in his neck. Red hot pins of fire and pressure and _ohdeargod_ ecstasy. It _hurt_, it brought tears to his eyes, and he smashed his fist into the wall and Webb's leg but it did nothing. He could feel his blood rushing north and slamming through his veins. His capillaries burst from the force of the pull and push of his blood and his insides were molten.

Idly, barely perceivable over the pressure and pain was the new coldness that was starting in his feet. He moaned, gritting his teeth, bottom lip trapped and split between them. Blood splashed on his chin and he felt Webb press in closer, letting the wall take Ianto's weight.

Webb released his hold on Ianto's wrist. The gun dropped and the danger over. He'd already drained well over a quarter of the man's blood that night; he was as dangerous as a rag-doll, easy and pliant in his arms. He tasted divine, so sweet, so rich and it was all Webb could do not to simply drain him there and then.

You could tell so much from someone by tasting their blood, and Ianto's spilled its secrets willingly. Broken, bruised, hurt and so damn lonely it'd have shattered Webb's heart had he not tasted the pure unbridled passion that was streaming through and into his mouth. It was like nothing he'd ever tasted before. So pure and untamed and willing. It was screaming for someone to notice it, use it, worship and abuse it.

And Webb was just the person.

He stopped sucking, not wanting the boy to die too quickly on him, it made turning much more risky if they died fast, but he left his teeth in the supple flesh, stoppers in the most palatable of wines. Wrapping himself more firmly around the dazed young man, Webb steered them back towards the bedroom. Pressed up against a wall was perhaps one of the least dignified ways for this to happen.

Ianto watched from behind a watery bubble as the world moved passed him. He could feel his blood moving through his body, sluggish and slow and very cold. Every time they moved slightly the fangs jolted into him, spearing him with heat and intensity and Ianto was panting from the wrong delicious mix of pain and searing hot pleasure.

He felt the bed under him, cool sheets and soft mattress and the arms and fangs were gone and he whined. He couldn't help it. There was madness and delirium and all he knew was his senses. There were no thoughts, no fears, everything had floated away and tears fell and blood seeped and he just couldn't care. He was dying; sweet welcome death and he didn't know how to ask for it to stop.

The bed dipped as Webb rejoined him. There was a cold flannel in his hand and he wiped the tears, saliva and blood from Ianto's face. He was careful and quick and Ianto's bleary eyes followed his every move, just a second too slow, but still.

Shedding his shirt and pants, Webb crawled up Ianto's body, fingers tracing the soft lines of muscle and pulling at the chest hair. Leaning down he pressed his ear to Ianto's chest, hearing the steady, if slow, thrumming of a hopeless heart. It was like the sweetest of music's, a symphony just for him. His hands wandered to the waist band of Ianto's bottoms, pushing and pulling them, until they were stripped from the long lean body and unceremoniously abandoned on the floor.

Ianto whimpered as Webb shifted around him, he felt his pyjamas disappear and the word _No_ sparked briefly in his mind before it drifted away. Somewhere he knew _something_, that this wasn't right. That someone else was meant to be doing this. But he didn't care, couldn't care. There was nothing but the tingling sweep of hands, lips, fingers over his body, setting every nerve on fire. It was like electrocution, divine and shuddering and he did his best to press into it, wanting it, craving it, needing it with everything he had.

He writhed and squirmed, whimpering and trying to plead but he couldn't form the words, his tongue thick and heavy and swimming in saliva.

He could feel lips on his chest, on his neck and face and wrists. There were fingers rubbing over his belly, his legs, touch teasing and soft. Nails grazed at his balls and heavy shaft and there was a slick prodding at his hole.

He wanted to scream or beg or just float away on the blackness that was hovering just out of reach, but he was suspended, hanging limp somewhere between here and everywhere and it wouldn't let him go.

Something, thin and warm moved within him, delicious friction and increasing width and Ianto knew this dance. He'd craved it before. Craved it from a man with bright blue eyes and a dazzling smile and the eternal scent of the ocean and sweet salty sex. But it wasn't him. He wasn't touching him, stroking and stoking him. He wasn't here and the tears rolled faster. He'd left, flown away in a magic box and all Ianto had to cling to was the body moving over him.

Webb slid inside Ianto with little more than blood from his wrist covering his cock and set up a frantic rhythm. Ianto's cock was hardening and heavy in his hand as he manoeuvred it between them, trapping it between their bellies, letting the weight of his body tease and stroke it to fullness. Ianto was warm and welcoming, his heat grasping and squeezing him, pulling him in and in and Webb drove as hard as he could.

Tentative hands wound there way round his back, heavy and clumsy with blood loss and legs lifted up as much as they were able, cradling Webb's body. Internal muscles, still working, clenched rhythmically around him, beating at him in time with the sluggish heart and blood song. He could feel the heat building in his own belly, spiralling up and out and a fever broke out over his cool skin. Salt tinged the air and wetness spread over his stomach and Ianto began to shudder slightly. The boy was peaking, but it would hurt, screaming agony as his thinned blood rushed everywhere at once.

He slammed harder, reaching into the dark for that blinding white heat of bliss that was looming over the horizon. He could see it dawning in Ianto's soft sky eyes, his cheeks were flushed, mouth parted and panting and the bright red of his tongue slipping in and out. Webb couldn't resist anymore, he flew down and took Ianto's mouth. This kiss was hot and sloppy, wet and dirty and Ianto gave as good as he got. He suckled on Webb's tongue like a newborn on a teat, as if it was his salvation.

Webb's hips moved faster, erratically. Ianto fell away from him, his mouth open and eyes wide in a silent scream as he came, white hot fluid falling spreading between them and Webb was lost. Ripping at his wrist, he tore all the way down to the bone, flesh shredding like paper under the onslaught. Without missing a thrust, he buried his fangs in Ianto's heart and raised the bloody tattered arm up to Ianto's slack mouth.


	5. Dearest Jack

**This is part 5 of 7 so we're nearing the end now. Thanks to deetatarant and Rai Guyver for their reviews**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

"I need coffee," Owen groaned, stumbling though the cog door, his hands clamped over his ears in a desperate hung-over attempt to block out the noise. The scent of stale larger and gin clung to him, despite the shower he'd taken. It was as if the alcohol was simply seeping out of the man's pores. Even he didn't know how much he'd had to drink the night before.

"Well, it'll have to be instant," Jack's cheery voice echoed from somewhere. Owen couldn't quite pinpoint where, partly because of the acoustics of the Hub and partly because his head was killing him.

"Is the coffee machine broken?" There was a hint of panic and utter desolation in Owen's voice at the thought of the coffee machine, beloved by them all and a valued member of Torchwood Three, being out of action.

Leaning over the railings on the gangway Jack grinned down at his _delicate_ medic. "Nope, coffee machine is fine."

"Then why the fuck can't I have a coffee?" he yelled up to his smug captain. Then winced as his voice rang in his ears and added to the pounding of his head.

"Ianto isn't here to work the machine. And you, better than anyone, know the penalty for touching the coffee machine without supervision."

Owen winced as he remembered the long, tortuous week when he had been forced to survive on Tesco's own label decaffeinated blend. He'd been in agony.

"Where's the Tea-boy then? Having a lie in?"

Jack leered down at the implication, a naughty spark in his eyes and Owen rolled his own. Jack shook his head. "Nah. It's his day off."

"Day off? He _can't_. What's he need a day off for?" Jack might have been annoyed, had Owen not sounded so thoroughly pathetic. It was obvious that he didn't care about Ianto having a day off, but about being taken care of.

Jack smiled and shrugged. "Oh, I don't know, perhaps because he hasn't had one in months. Because he works 18 hour days _eight _days a week?"

"But it's not fair!"

"Owen, I'm sure you can survive one day without Ianto. And, if you do it without too much whining, I might not tell Ianto you missed him!" Jack chuckled at the growl Owen emitted and headed back to his office, shaking his head at the fact that the doctor never learned. He'd come into work so many times, hungover and hurting and swearing off alcohol. A week later he was at it again.

"How the hell am I meant to get through today without coffee?" Owen mumbled, quietly so Jack's freakish hearing didn't pick it up.

"Perhaps you should start with some Nurofen and a big glass of water."

Owen jerked around, Tosh was sitting unobtrusively behind her desk, eyes fixed on one of her many monitors. He headed over to her and collapsed into the chair by her desk and laid his head on the blissfully cool metal of her table.

"Could you get me some?" he whimpered.

"Nope, busy, sorry."

"Come on Tosh… please?" He tried giving her the puppy eyes that had worked on her so many times, but it failed. Partly because she didn't look at him and partly because his eyes were bloodshot and watery.

She shook her head.

"Well, doesn't this just take the fucking biscuit?" he griped into his arms, "The Tea-boy is finally needed and he's no where to be found! Just sodding perfect." Closing his eyes, he wondered whether he could just go to sleep here and wake up when his hangover was gone.

"Tea-boy has way too much fucking power," he mumbled, his mind's eye picturing the mess he'd left in the autopsy bay, and he just knew Ianto wouldn't have cleared it before going home last night. He groaned and dug further into the burrow his folded arms made on the desk.

"Perhaps," Tosh began gently, "If you didn't demand he clean up and look after you like you were a toddler and not a fully qualified doctor, you wouldn't be in such a mess now."

"Shut up Tosh."

He didn't see her smile, nor the way it morphed into a smirk when her computer logged Gwen's access code being punched in.

The alarm screamed out, red lights flashing and the cog door wheezingly rolled back. Owen valiantly tried to disappear into his arms and block out the sound, but it had been designed to be heard in the Archives and all he could do was grit his teeth and wait it out. Tosh chuckled quietly as she carried on working. She did so love it when Owen's arrogance got the better of him.

"Good morning!" Gwen chirruped as she bounced into the Hub. She was bundled up in a warm wool coat, scarf and bobble hat and in her gloved hands was a pumpkin. "Happy Halloween!"

"I didn't take you for a Halloween fan Gwen," Tosh stated, finally looking up from her screens and smiling at the pumpkin and the black cat sweater Gwen was sporting.

"What? Oh I love it! Rhys is taking me to a fancy dress party tonight down at the pub. You should come," she nodded, wide eyed and encouraging.

"We'll see." Tosh nodded. "You dressing up?"

"Yup. Though I'm torn between being a witch or a cat." She pointed at her top. "Rhys is keen on the cat outfit, though I think its something to do with the leather boots."

Tosh raised a querying eyebrow, but before Gwen could go into detail of her costume choices, they were rudely interrupted by an almost pitiful groan.

"Oh god, kill me now," Owen moaned.

Gwen glared in his direction before turning to Tosh who mouthed 'hangover' over his head. Gwen pulled a mock sympathetic pout before tiptoeing over to the beleaguered man. Leaning in she grinned before yelling, "Trick or Treat!"

"Oh fuck! Knock it off!"

"Did I hear the mention of leather boots?" Jack had appeared from his office the moment the alarms had sounded, and had listened with interest to Gwen's plans. If he'd thought of it earlier, he could have dragged Ianto out to one of the many themed evenings all the local pubs seemed to sporting. What he'd give to see that man dressed up to his own specifications.

"Mornin' Jack." Gwen turned, bright grin on her face and looked up at her boss. She'd long grown immune to his (and Ianto's) ability of appearing out of nowhere and Owen's soused death threats.

"You're perky this morning."

"Trick or Treat?" she asked, heading back to her desk.

Jack frowned in confusion, darting a glance at Tosh, who just shrugged, and Owen, whose bleary eyes refused to focus.

"Well, you know me! I never could resist a challenge." Jack cocked his head to the side and folded his arms. "Did I ever tell you about-"

"Ahem!"

Oh, right… Treat?" He flashed her the patent 'Harkness Grin', copyrighted and trademarked on over forty worlds throughout the universe.

She smiled sweetly, and practically skipped up the stairs towards him, hands behind her back. As she drew closer his smile grew. Finally drawing level, Gwen handed him an envelope. His name was on the front.

"Tickets to a party?" he asked hopefully.

"Dunno," she shrugged. "It was on the mat in the Tourist Office. Ianto obviously hasn't been up there this morning."

"No, it's his day off," Jack replied distractedly, turning the envelope over in his hands.

"Yeah, apparently Tea-boy has a stressful job," Owen grouched.

Jack was too interested in the envelope though to reprimand Owen though. It was thick, good quality cotton paper. The writing was old-fashioned. Loops and slants and written in proper ink, which had bled slightly into the fine weaves.

"Well?" Gwen was looking over his shoulder. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"Can't." Jack headed down the stairs. "Standard Torchwood protocol. When receiving mail at a Torchwood office that is specifically labelled for one of its officers the mail must be subjected to tests."

"X-rays, UV irradiation and the Bekeran scanner," Tosh picked up where Jack left off, "It has to go through all of them before it can be opened."

"Why?" Gwen asked.

"Torchwood One used to get a lot of terrorist threats."

"And also," Jack said, "Better safe than sorry."

A few hours later and the envelope had undergone every test Torchwood had to offer and had passed them all with flying colours. Owen had dosed it heavily with their modified UVGI unit, guaranteeing that no matter where or when the letter came from it wasn't carrying any type of germicide. It looked totally innocuous lying on Jack's desk, totally undeserving of the glare being levelled at it.

Jack loomed over the envelope; hand's bracing his weight on the desk, trying to work out what was wrong. Something about the bland piece of stationary rattled his teeth. Jack wasn't used to receiving mail of the non digital variety. And even then, all of his emails came from UNIT or Torchwood or the PM's office. None of them were personal, although Martha did ask how he was when she emailed him. The only ones he ever got that were for him, and him alone, not for Torchwood Three's team leader or Captain Jack Harkness, were random little notes sent by his team during the day. But they didn't really count because they were nothing more than substitutions for coming up and talking to Jack face to face.

There was only one person who Jack could think of that might have the affinity to use such old fashioned materials to write to him, and it wasn't Ianto's handwriting.

Briefly Jack considered the Doctor, but it was perhaps a little too understated for the ebullient Time Lord.

Settling into his chair he picked up the letter. Gently he ran his little finger between the flap and seal, separating them with soft snickt. Sheaves of paper, folded perfectly in half, fell out. Dark writing covered everyone. Unfolding the first, he settled back into his chair and began to read.

_My dear Jack,_

_I would normally spend this paragraph with trivialities, asking after your health and that of your loved ones, but I fear such sentiment would be wasted on you. After all, if a man can not die, the common cold is not much of a concern for him. And besides, I already know the answer to my questions._

_Yes, I have been checking up on you. Not in any obvious way of course, just venturing to Cardiff whenever my travels bring me back to Great Britain. Hasn't the city grown over the years? I imagine that the changes haven't seemed that drastic to you, they never do when you are amongst them. But I have only visited twelve times in the hundred years since we parted._

_I haven't bothered you before now, simply because there was no point. Many of the times I saw you, you were happy. To a degree. I don't think you are capable of true happiness my friend. Even when we were together, you were haunted. Whatever happened in your past, you haven't left it behind. Nevertheless, over the years you seemed to have grown and been living your life. Yet, on the past three occasions I have noticed changes, and I am worried Jack._

_You are failing I fear. Not physically of course. No, physically you are as strong as ever. More so perhaps. I wonder whether you, like me, gain strength as you age. Does it take more to hurt you? More to knock you down? Are your deaths growing shorter? But that is not my point, and as always, you are very distracting!_

_My point is that you merely exist but you have forgotten how to live. You refuse to love and accept the happiness others wish to offer you. Perhaps you fear the grief and heartache that comes when you say goodbye. But I told you years ago, humans aren't meant to live forever. You are too fragile for it._

_And you are proving me right Jack._

_I warned you. I asked you to come with me, spend eternity at my side; I was selfish yes but I didn't want to see you fade. I swear that our relationship and the endless blood supply where only bonuses. But you refused. Something was holding you to Cardiff and you refused to give up on it. I hope, whatever it was was worth the wait, but I fear that you didn't get the answers you sought._

_Don't get me wrong Jack, you are not yet past the point of no return. You haven't lost your passion, but your sense of compassion and empathy, don't you see? They are waning Jack. Waxing cold and forgotten in that eternal chest of yours. You surround yourself with people but you don't let them in._

_I thought, when I returned last year that maybe the policewoman, Gwen, would be the one. The one who taught you how to live again, I hoped that she would be able to break down those damned walls I have watched you erect over the decades. But you took the easy way out. How very typical of you. You let her do all the feeling for you. Let her become the conscience of Torchwood and its Captain, so that you didn't have to deal with it. I admire your ingenuity, even if I curse the stupidity of your actions. Letting her worry about the emotions and the humanity of your job is the last straw Jack. If you carry on down this road then there will be no going back. You'll stop caring, and eventually you'll stop trying. From there it is only a matter of time before you bore of this planet totally. Forget your self appointed quest to protect Earth and mankind from what the future has to throw at them._

_I don't know why you feel this mission is so important, but what was once your obsession is in danger of falling by the wayside._

_You were once a friend to me Jack. Not family, but I would go far enough to say that I cared for you. And so, I feel it is my place to step in and put you back on your path._

_You left me no choice really Jack. I warned you not to let things slide for a reason. You are immortal, and unlike me, you are very able to affect the world. I can't take the chance that you'll be lost to the madness that can claim my kind. I won't take that chance._

_So remember, when you are cursing my name and vowing to wipe out my existence: you forced my hand._

_He loves you Jack. Wholly, and uncomplicatedly and I fear that he would have laid down his life for you, even though you can survive anything. I am not sure whether I pity or envy you such loyalty. But you didn't see it, and that blindness, to one so close to you, has galvanised my actions._

_I know he will forgive you this. He will forgive me eventually I'm sure. Ianto Jones is a man of deep passions and endless empathy. It's just hidden under tailored suits and a laconic attitude._

_All you have to do now Jack is accept it. Take my gift, take his, and accept it into your life. Let it change you, protect you. Let him love you. You don't have to love him in return, he doesn't need it anymore. He's stronger than you, he was before I met him, and if anyone can escort you through eternity it is him._

_If you open yourself to him Jack, I have no doubt that you will make it. You'll be happy. I won't lie to you, there will be times of great heartache and grief and you will lose friends and loved ones but there will be someone there, to stand by you when all else crumbles._

_That is my gift to you Jack._

_Hopefully, the next time I'm in Cardiff, I won't have to fear for you._

_Your friend, even if you are no longer mine._

_Webb._

The letter fell from Jack's nerveless fingers and the world stopped spinning. Everything stopped. The clock didn't tick and the halogen lights didn't buzz. Tosh's fingers didn't tapdance across her keyboards and Myfanwy froze mid-flight. Everything just stopped.

And then it started again, rushing at him like life coming back from the dead, the world spinning faster than before, and Jack's blood was cold. So cold. Fear ripped at him, clawing through flesh and bone and chewing into his still beating heart and he knew he was shaking his head in denial.

His hand slammed down on the alarm button by his desk. The emergency alarm that was _never_ used. But Jack felt that it had to be used now. Or else what was the point?

Grabbing his phone he flipped it open and hit '2', Ianto's mobile, with a shaking hand. It rang and rang and rang and Jack felt sick and he'd never known relief until he heard it answer.

"Ianto!"

"_You have reached Ianto Jones. The world is most probably ending at the moment so I can't make it to the phone, but please leave a message and I will get back to you. After Armageddon, of course._"

It beeped, prompting Jack to leave a message, and usually he would. Usually he'd leave something obscene and 'unsuitable' but there were no such thoughts in his head now.

"Ianto, please call me."

But he doubted that he'd ever hear from the young man. But he was Captian Jack Harkness and he didn't just give up that easily. He had a tenacious streak that outstripped Gwen's, rang rings around it and then waited smirking at the finish line. And it was that tenacity that was refusing to let go of the small sliver of hope that maybe, just please God maybe, Webb hadn't gotten to Ianto yet.

Phone in hand, he grabbed his coat and flew from his office, not caring the way the pane of glass rattled ominously as the door smacked against the wall. Gwen was at her desk, checking her gun and loading extra clips into her pockets. Tosh was doing the same, but her actions were practised and automatic and she had one eye on the Rift Monitor, searching for the emergency Jack had hailed.

On seeing him, Gwen tucked her gun into the waistband of her jeans, "What's going on Jack?"

"It's Ianto."


	6. Never Ending Gifts

**And we hit the penultimate chapter! I'm not sure on this one but I tried a variety of reactions etc and somehow they just didn't work.**

**Thank you to Mc Parrot, oobles, Rai Guyver and laal ratty for your reviews. I do hope that you enjoy what's left! Although I'm sure you'll let me know if not!**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

The door to Ianto's apartment splintered under the force of Jack's boot.

"Was that necessary?" Gwen hissed, tucked up against the wall to the right, gun held out in front of her, pointing at the dull brown carpet.

Jack's glare declared that yes, actually, kicking the door in was necessary, if only because it allowed him to expel some of the violence the fear had churned up in him. Flanked by his team, his loyal fragile team, he entered Ianto's apartment. His heart was hammering, trying to beat its way out of his chest. Part of him didn't want to go into his lover's home - if he had the right to call him that. It wanted to curl up outside the door, stick his fingers in his ears, shut his eyes and hum whatever nonsensical melody that came into his head.

At the moment all he could hear was a funeral dirge and a death knell and his heart breaking.

They fanned out, Tosh and Gwen going right into the little kitchen, Owen left, checking the closet, and Jack moved forwards. He heard whispers of 'Clear' over his comm. unit and knew that the others were moving behind him, but he didn't care. Blue eyes electric sharp, jaw clenched, Jack stepped into the living room.

It had been months since he'd last seen the place, but apart from the new paint on the walls, a rich thick cream rather than the magnolia it'd had previously sported, there was no change. The flat was neat and tasteful, nothing out of place anywhere. No signs of a struggle. His Bond DVDs were still stacked neatly by the DVD player, his CDs, alphabetised and tucked behind the stereo system.

And there was a vase of fresh vase of lilies on the coffee table.

Lilies, beautiful mournful white lilies, elegant decorations for the dead. And they made Jack feel sick.

"Jack." Tosh's whisper brought him back from the crushing need he had to shatter the crystal vase and crush the petals of the delicate blooms underfoot.

He turned to look at her, posture not relaxing one fraction and stiffening up even more when he saw the shattered mobile lying forlornly on the ground.

All of them were tense now, alert and anxious and if wasn't the usual fizz of energy that came when they were hunting something down. This was more. This weighed on all of them and tangled their innards in knots. Not one of them dared breathe least it set off a chain reaction.

Owen poked around at the window, finding it shut and closed and sparklingly clean. There wasn't even a finger print on the glass. Tosh was covering the back of them, ensuring nothing caught them unawares. Gwen watched as Jack stooped to pick up the broken phone. Had Ianto been trying to call him? Call for help?

Had Webb broken in, startling and overpowering Ianto? Or had he whisked him away in the night? Jack hated to think that this tattered wreck of plastic might be all that was left of his Ianto. That the young man might be lost to the world until some godforsaken time in the future. Or that he might never be seen again. And Jack couldn't think those things, because if he did then he might as well just break down and start wailing like a lost child now. Because once he admitted to himself that Ianto might be – gone, then he'd have to admit that it was all his fault.

"Ah, you made it."

Jack turned and rose slowly to his feet. Webb was leaning against Ianto's bedroom door, trousers loose around his waist, shirt missing and hair mussed and Jack had to grit his teeth at the undeniable implications of his appearance. It was just another twist of the knife.

Another nail in Ianto's coffin.

He trained his Webley, for all the good it would do him, on the vampire. It was comfortable and familiar, solid and reassuring in his hand, and he needed that now. With courage he didn't even realise he possessed, he forced his hand not to shake and his eyes not to belie the true terror he was feeling.

"I thought that, perhaps I would have been long gone before you even got my note. Your team seem quite enamoured with that lift of yours. I didn't think anyone other than Ianto used the Tourist entrance."

Jack smiled, not his usual grin, not even a happy expression but there was no point in being hostile and threatening Webb. He didn't care.

"And speaking of Ianto, where is he?"

"Sleeping I'm afraid. Best not to wake him. I'm sure he'll join us when he's ready."

Webb moved into the room, all fluid grace and ease, as if there weren't four guns following his every move. He knew what the vampire was doing; he could smell the slight pheromones on the air, the aura of calm that was tingling at his spine. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gwen's gun dip slightly before being hiked back up. Webb was using every dirty little weapon he had in his arsenal and they weren't ready for anything like this. He could hit them with physical and mental attacks and all they had were guns and Ianto lying either dead, dying or… different in the other room.

And Jack had no idea of what to do. He'd hoped that Webb's letter had been a threat, a shot across the bow, and that he'd turn up here and Ianto would be sleepy and ticked off that his holiday was being interrupted. He hadn't planned for finding Webb here. He hadn't thought that far ahead.

He hadn't planned for the other's to walk into this. They knew that Ianto was in trouble, but had no idea from what or how or why and Jack couldn't tell them. The words were gone from his head and the breath had been stolen from his lungs and he had nothing left to give.

Ianto was gone.

"Not gone. I told you. A gift."

Webb had gotten so close to him and he hadn't even seen the creature move. He slammed up his psi-shields before he could trespass further, and Webb merely acknowledged the belated defence with a small raise of his eyebrow.

"Who are you?" Gwen grit out, gun wavering but eyes cold and vicious.

"An old friend. I mean no harm."

"Wait just one second. You," Owen pointed at Jack, "Said Ianto was in trouble, and we drag our arses all the way over Cardiff for what? To find out that some old friend of yours or his or someone you met at a swingers party sometime is in town and is shagging the Tea-boy?" Owen dropped his gun and glared at Jack. "You brought us all the way over here because someone was playing with your toys?! What did you want us to do? Kick his arse? Toss him out on the street?"

Jack shook his head numbly. Owen's hangover and occasional grudge against Ianto were rearing their heads at the worst possible time.

Webb laughed. "You must be Owen Harper. Harper by name, harpy by nature."

"Oi!"

"Stop it," Jack whispered, unable to bear the frivolity of introductions and light hearted banter.

"Why so sad Jack?"

The blinding flash of pure rage swept Jack up before he could even think and he lunged for Webb, tangling a hand in his shaggy hair and wrenching whilst the other locked on his throat. It wouldn't harm him, he didn't need the air, but it was the only thing he could grab as the vampire hadn't been considerate enough to dress for a manhandling.

Vaguely he could hear the alarmed shouts of the others, and feel soft hands tugging at him, but he only wanted one thing, "Why?" he hissed, mouth practically pressed against Webb's.

"Because I could," the vampire hissed back and with a burst of strength threw Jack the length of the room. "You arrogant little fool Jack Harkness! Did you think that you could come here and take me on?" Webb's eyes blazed and his fangs dropped and his face became a thing of malevolence. No longer was he attractive or desirable. He was nightmare made flesh, sculptured in to a parody of a man.

Crumpled, Jack watched as his team raised their weapons once more, realising finally that this was something beyond them. None of them fired though, and for that Jack was grateful. Webb wouldn't kill or harm them if he didn't have to, if only because they meant something to Jack.

"Didn't you read my note Jack? I thought I'd explained myself pretty well in it."

Jack shook his head, he'd read the letter. He imagined that the words were now seared into his brain. But still, he wanted to hear it from Webb's lips. He wanted the torture of them all hearing that this was his fault.

"You killed him," he whispered.

"I suppose I did," Webb's agreement was amicable enough.

"Ianto's dead?" Tosh's voice was already brimming with tears and Gwen's hand was shaking.

"For the time, yes."

Jack retched at the onslaught of guilt and grief, bile welling in his gut and he was aware of nothing but the simple thought that Ianto was dead. There was a howl of pure anguish…

And all hell broke loose.

Gwen fired, one shot, single and determined and straight to the heart. Webb had been so focused on Jack, huddled and fallen and finally _feeling_ that he had dismissed the others in the room. He hit the carpet with a soft thud, eyes sliding shut. Owen, Tosh on his heels, raced through, over the fallen man and into Ianto's bedroom.

Gwen followed them, staggering slightly, overwhelmed at having shot someone in a moment of pure rage. She'd never done anything like it before, never felt anything like it before and hoped that she would never have to feel it ever again. It had blindsided her. One minute she had been numb with grief and shock and the idea that Ianto, sweet unassuming Ianto, was dead and the next her gun was vibrating in her hand and the man, Ianto's murderer was lying on the floor. Hole in his heart.

And she felt victorious. She was glad that he was dead.

Staring down at the ashen face she didn't realise that she had moved towards the body and it wasn't until she heard Tosh's scream from the other room that she broke through the slight trance she'd slipped into. Running she headed for the open door, but Jack beat her to it and she slammed into his back.

Ianto's room smelled of sex. And blood. The bed was rumpled and rucked and if it hadn't been for the naked bloody body in the middle of it, Jack might have been forced to comment that a good time had obviously been had by all.

He felt Gwen hit his back and then step around him. He heard her heartbreak in the little sob she gave and the whisper of her clothes as she slid down the wall. But he didn't care. There was only one place he wanted to be right now.

Slowly, limbs leaden, he moved towards the bed. Tosh was stood a little away, tears rolling down her cheeks, arms wrapped around her body, whilst Owen was kneeling over Ianto, checking desperately for a pulse. A pulse Jack knew he couldn't find.

There was too much blood. On the bed, on Ianto's neck, on his chest. And he was so pale. So young.

Sitting gently down beside him he stroked his hand over the cold cheek. He knew that Ianto wasn't going to stay like this, it was probably the only thing keeping the tears from spilling, but still. Seeing someone you know, someone you care for lying in a pool of their own blood was a horrific experience and Jack had seen it too many times.

"What did this?" whispered Tosh. Even in the depths of despair, her need to know, to understand couldn't be denied. It was how she dealt. How she worked. If everything had an answer, an explanation, then it held no fear for her.

"Me." Jack couldn't think of anything else to say and no one corrected him. "Owen, get me a wet cloth. And a clean sheet. He wouldn't have wanted you to see him like this."

He heard Owen move away and sensed Gwen stir. "Jack? What are you doing?"

"Cleaning him up. He hates being messy."

Tosh glanced at Gwen, worry clear in her grief stricken eyes. Pulling herself up, Gwen headed over to Jack just as Owen returned from the bathroom with a wet hand towel and flannel sheet, still warm from the emersion heater. Handing the items to Jack, he moved back, leaving the grieving Captain to his own devices and going to wrap a comforting arm around Tosh. She turned into his shoulder, tears leaking into his jacket, and was so very grateful for the support.

"Jack," Gwen said, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Leave that. We can sort it later." She glanced up at the others, her lip trembling and fat tears sliding down her cheeks. "Lets just… let's just get him back to the Hub yeah?"

She didn't want to spend another minute in the apartment, and from the looks of it, neither did Owen or Tosh. The idea that someday soon they would have to come back and box up Ianto's life was sickening. It would mean he was really gone. But, seeing his body out on display like that, she couldn't really deny that he was.

And Jack was scaring her.

He seemed calm. He'd whirled out of his office like a hurricane and had smashed his way to Ianto's apartment, breaking speed limits and laws and Ianto's door. But now, knowing that the young man was dead, the fight had just dropped out of him. The eye was upon them, and she wanted them all safe before it passed over.

"She's right mate. We'll take him back to the Hub and clean him up there." Owen's voice was soft and for the first time, he sounded like a compassionate doctor. The kind he must have been before Torchwood, Katie and Diane turned him bitter and caustic.

"You might want to listen to them. He might not appreciate waking up here."

Gwen, Owen and Tosh, alarm in their eyes, all spun to the door. There was blood on Webb's chest but there was no sign of a bullet wound. No sign that just minutes before he'd been lying dead and bleeding out into an Axminster.

"No, 'snot possible," Owen breathed, his arms tensing around Tosh.

"And I thought you might have seen your beloved Captain come back from the dead at least once. Ianto certainly seemed to know all about it." Webb wasn't even watching them warily. They were no threat to him. Not in this broken state. "Nice shooting Miss Cooper." He nodded to the young woman, slightly relishing the horror that spread over her face. But to be fair, it was a good shot and she deserved the praise.

"What are you?" she breathed, eyes darting to the gun that had been abandoned by his foot.

"Vampire."

It was said so simply, so understated, that they had no choice but to believe him.

"And Ianto?" Worry, more than enough to overwhelm and choke out the fear, clouded Tosh's eyes.

"Will wake up soon enough." Webb laughed brightly and reached for his shirt which was tossed over the chair near the door. "He's fed already, so he won't come round and kill you all if that's what you were thinking."

"Well I am now," Owen mumbled.

"Why did you do this?" If anything, the idea that Ianto had been turned into a vampire seemed to upset Gwen more than the idea that he'd been murdered.

"Because I had to. It was the only way I could give him to Jack."

They frowned in confusion, not privy to the history between the immortal and the vampire. But before they could question anything a laugh cut them off. Bitter and twisted it made their skin prickle and goose bump and set their teeth on edge.

"Give him to me? Give him to me? No, Webb, you haven't given him to me! You _took _him from me!" Jack's voice was hard and hysterical and he hadn't even turned round. He was just sitting their, softly wiping the blood and come and gore from Ianto's body.

"Don't be so dramatic," Webb snapped, doing up his buttons. "I didn't take him from you. He's still yours, always was and always will be. I just made it a little more permanent."

"No," Jack shook his head, "You took him from me."

"How do you figure that out Jack?"

Jack turned, slowly and deliberately and his team shrank away from the look in his eyes. It was angry and vengeful and alive and none of them had ever seen such a grotesque look on his face before. His usually teasing and kind eyes were red and hard and wished death one anyone brave enough to meet their stare.

"You took him," he said slowly. Even and cold voice deliberately placing each word. "You raped him. And then you stole his life."

"If that's the case, then I took from him, not from you Jack," Webb pointed out reasonably.

"No. You took from me. You took a member of my team. You took my lover and you made him just like you."

"Precisely. I made him just like me," Webb smirked and his eyes flashed light and cheerful and so very proud. "I made him immortal Jack. Almost indestructible. I took away the frailties of his humanity and replaced them with something stronger. Something better." He cocked his head and slid his hands into his pockets. "Really, you should be thanking me."

Jack hissed in a breath and his eyes blazed. If looks could cause harm, then the entire flat would have been incinerated with the angry heat pouring from Jack's gaze. His jaw clenched and he rose, towering over the bed and putting himself between Ianto and Webb. "Get out. Leave Cardiff and don't dare come back."

Webb chuckled, nodding slightly as if knowing that this would be the end result. "Don't worry my friend. I'm leaving. After all, I did what I came to do." His gaze seemed to curve round Jack to fall on Ianto, and his face softened. "Don't forget my letter. Everything I said about him was true." He fixed Jack with a warning look, one which promised a degree of retribution should his instructions be failed. "He's yours now, my gift." Webb gave an ironic chuckle at his words. "Take care of him."

And with those parting words Webb simply walked away.


	7. Figure it Out

**Ok, this is the final chapter. I may consider a sequel if there is any call for it. Please let me know what you thought of the fic. It's my first in Torchwood...**

**This is for everyone who reviewed: laal ratty, Mc Parrot, deetatarant, oobles, Rai Guyver and Dana Jane! Thank you so much x**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Jack finally convinced the team to leave the Hub. Go out and live. They'd seen too much death and pain and perhaps it was time to start clawing something back. It might be too late for Jack and Ianto, but the others were still hail and healthy and Jack couldn't let that slide. He wouldn't let it slide. So he let them go; Gwen and Tosh still tearful but had following Owen and his suggestion of drinks. And he would sit and wait for Ianto to wake up.

But, either he'd slipped into a waking coma or fallen asleep because Ianto had gone and Jack was alone in the Hub. A quick scan of the monitors and CCTV revealed that he'd managed to slip out, leaving Jack asleep at his bedside.

So Jack followed, grabbing his great coat and left the Hub. Tracking Ianto wasn't difficult, it might have been without his Vortex Manipulator, but as it was he had it programmed to be able to find any member of his team at the drop of a hat. Small sample of DNA in its CPU and voila, instant tracking device. So much more reliable than a bug, and its range was infinite. Time and space.

Ianto was sitting, high above the city, legs dangling over the edge, on the roof of the Capital Tower. It was the highest spot in the city, and Jack himself had spent many an hour here, watching over his city, thinking of all the things he had to do, to remember, to say to keep it safe. He'd never known Ianto come up here though. Not even when he'd been looking for Jack. He'd usually wait in his car, parked outside the building, reading the paper or listening to Radio 4, simply idling away the time until Jack came down.

But Jack was coming for him now, and he wasn't content to wait on the ground whilst Ianto faced his new demons alone. Carefully he moved across the room, not silently or stealthily but not loud enough to startle Ianto from his musings; he just made enough noise for Ianto to hear him coming.

Although, the vampire had probably caught his scent and heard his heartbeat when he'd gotten out of the SUV.

And he hated thinking of him in that way. He was determined _not_ to think of Ianto as anything other than Ianto. He was still the same quiet boy of pristine suits and orgasmic coffee. He'd just changed slightly. He wasn't as frail or frangible; he was almost as indelible as Jack. And Jack couldn't quash the bright feeling of hope and relief that gave him.

He knew he shouldn't feel anything but extreme guilt and self loathing for what had happened, but he couldn't help it. He was happy. For the first time in forever, he didn't have to face the prospect of eternity alone. A weight had vanished from his shoulders and he felt as though he could breathe again.

"You knew him." It wasn't a question and Ianto didn't turn to look at him, but Jack answered anyway. After everything, the very least he could do was offer Ianto the truth. It wasn't much and it was most definitely late, but it was all he had.

"Yes."

"How?"

Jack huffed slightly and thrust his hands into his pockets. "It's complicated."

"I have time. I have nothing but time, and after today I think I have the right to ask you anything."

Jack shuddered at the bleakness of Ianto's voice. It was as if he'd given up before he'd even begun, but there was a spark there, an anger, that meant he hadn't quite stopped fighting yet. But he was right, he did have the time and the right and Jack hadn't a leg to stand on.

"It was 1893 and I'd just returned to Cardiff from the States. I hadn't joined Torchwood yet, hadn't heard of them even. I was working, in a little pub in the centre of the city. It wasn't much but it kept me in food and board and I didn't need all that much. I was just biding my time, waiting for the Doctor. I knew the people in the bar, the regulars, but there was no one really."

He paused, sitting himself down on the ledge with Ianto. Usually he stood, like a conqueror or a defending knight standing guard, but that wasn't appropriate now. The thing he should have protected, the one person he should have guarded with all he had was the one who had been hurt.

Changed forever and Jack couldn't take it back. All he could do was give Ianto his story and hope the young man forgave him.

"One night I was cutting through the park, it was late and quiet and all the respectable people were in bed at such an hour. I didn't know I was being followed until the last second and then the only thing I could do was look at him whilst he killed me."

Beside him Ianto flinched. He knew what that felt like, the crush of Webb's grip and the steel of his determination. Jack had just been a meal though. Obviously, Ianto had been right in his summation that Jack wasn't meant for immortality.

"I knew I'd never forget those eyes. Bright amber, like they were on fire. But then everything went black. I knew I wouldn't die, had already come back twice, so I don't even think I struggled as he killed me. I don't think I even screamed. I just stared at him whilst he drained me dry."

Jack shook his head and scrubbed his hands over his face. He hadn't wanted to be melancholy. He had wanted to know how Ianto was, but Ianto wanted to know his past and parts of it were messy.

"Anyway, I woke up a while later, wet and cold and staggered off home. I didn't really think anything of it. I mean, sure vampire. But I've seen stranger things and it made about as much sense as anything does. I had put it out of my mind by the time I went into work the next night, but Cardiff was a small town in those days and there were so few places where the more unsavoury aspect of society could get a drink.

"Webb came in with a small group, a couple of prostitutes and their pimp and he seemed quite popular with them. But I swear I've never seen anyone look so shocked as he did when I asked him what he wanted to drink."

Ianto snorted a little laugh, imagining Jack doing just that, lacing the words with the right amount of innuendo and flirting with those big blue eyes. He could even imagine Webb's face, supposing that everything he'd said and done last night hadn't been a lie. Most of it had been, but he had to hope that some of it at least was true.

If not, then he was just as cursed as Jack. More so even.

"Anyway, we got chatting. I knew what he was obviously and he was intrigued with me. I did hope that he could help me in some way but he'd never heard of anything like me before. Not that surprising really, but I did hope. I was lonely Ianto, so goddamn lonely, I'd been trapped in the nineteenth century for nearly thirty years and all I wanted was for someone to understand. And he offered it.

"He knew what living forever was like. What being out of time was like. And he offered me a good deal. A home, money, a bed. Sex. And all I had to do was let him drain me every so often. Dying wasn't exactly hard and compared to some deaths it was more than pleasurable."

Ianto nodded, his throat hot with the memory of Webb's fangs invading and penetrating, and he could imagine just how pleasurable it had been for Jack to die in such exquisite agony.

"So I stayed with him and he taught me a lot. I don't think he loved me, I think he could only love those like him, other vampires, but he cared. I was like a pet or something. I do know that he was worried about me. Soemthing about immortality and suitability. But I didn't really listen. I was just idling time with him, waiting for the Doctor. I stayed with him right up until 1898. He left to travel in Europe and I couldn't risk leaving Cardiff and missing the Doctor so I let him go."

Jack's voice sounded sad and Ianto wondered whether he was regretting leaving Webb or the Doctor or both. One never knew with Jack, one never knew just when an ex was going to crawl out of the woodwork and try to destroy them all.

Ianto laughed, bitter like the wind that whipped around them. "Why is it that your past comes back to hurt us Jack? Captain Hart, Webb. What's next, a long lost family member turning up?"

Jack ignored the shudder that ran through him. Gray. He stepped closer to his… lover he supposed. Ianto had earned the affection of such a title. He'd started out as a fuck buddy, but now, he was most definitely a lover. If not loved.

"What do we do now?" he asked bombast voice gone, instead unsure and tired. Heart worn and weary and slightly mad with the need for everything to be ok.

"Carry on I suppose. Go back to work, make coffee, feed Myfanwy and Janet." Ianto gazed out over Cardiff, the twinkling lights almost blinding to his new eyes. He turned to Jack, "Write our reports." He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

It was amazing. The cold was biting, he could feel it gnawing at his skin, but he didn't feel cold. It was as if his skin could just take it, allowed the freezing wind to roll over him and not affect him. It was abstract, like banging your elbow when drunk. You register the hit but you don't feel the pain until the following morning, when you wake up covered in bruises you have no idea of.

There was a light pressure on his arm and he glanced down to see Jack's large tanned hand resting on the wool of his coat. He could feel Jack's touch, scalding through the cloth. He could see Jack's veins, eternally pumping blood through his body. Fine hairs flecked the back of his hand, almost invisible and barely there, but he could see them. Looking up, tearing his eyes away from the hand least he get lost mapping the lines and cracks in the skin.

Jack's eyes were pained; Ianto didn't think he'd seen them that dark or that sad since Suzie's second death and he was split. A dichotomy of emotions warred for supremacy in his heart. One, the white, pained and sad and absolutely desolate for making Jack look so forlorn. Ashamed and guilty that he had been the one to hurt Jack so. But the other, the black, the beating heart of the animal he now was, was gladdened. Delighted, preening proud, elated and giddy at the thought that Jack actually did care. That _he_ could be the one to hurt Jack's heart for once.

"I meant for us," Jack clarified, voice calm but tense, worried but determined not to let on. "What do _we_ do now, Ianto?"

Shrugging the hand off his arm he caught it, lightning quick, before Jack realised it had even been dislodged. It was a heady thing, the power he now had. He could move quicker than they could think, sense things that were beyond their imaginings. He'd distanced himself from the others for his survival upon his arrival at Torchwood Three, but never had he felt so alone. Even in the weeks of suspension after Lisa's death, lost in a pit of grieving despair, even then he hadn't been alone. On his own perhaps, but not alone.

Now he was.

Even Jack, with all his quirks and oddities, he was closer to the team than Ianto now was. Webb had lied about so many things, but what struck Ianto as his worst falsehood was the claim that humans and vampires were alike. As far as Ianto could tell, he was as disparate from the human race as Janet or Myfanwy and perhaps it would be better for all concerned if he was gone.

"Ianto?" Jack's voice was full of concern, like his eyes, solicitous oceans of blue that stretched into Infinity. Ianto had never seen such blue, whispers of dark thunder colour swamped by light cerulean, spangled specks of stars scattered here and there making them luminescent even in the twilight.

He shook his head. It was so easy to fix on something now, see the world as never before and need to scrutinise it down to the last detail. It was maddening. Almost maddening enough to wish that Jack hadn't run Webb out of 'his' city.

He sighed.

"I don't know Jack." It was the honest truth and that was all he had to give. He didn't know where he and Jack stood, precisely because he didn't know where he stood. His life had literally changed overnight and everything he had known yesterday was no longer true.

He wasn't even human anymore.

"I just don't know. Everything is so different now. It's all changed." He laughed, small and low, "You said that the 21st Century was where it all changed, I just never thought…" He trailed off, his breath turning into a sob. His shoulders shook and he tried to hunch them over, curl up into himself and stop the shaking but it just wasn't working.

"Hey, hey, shhh." Jack reached out and pulled the young man towards him, curling himself around Ianto and letting him bury himself in whatever strength he could get from Jack's arms. One hand drifted up to smooth its way through Ianto's dark hair, rubbing at his scalp and stroking his neck. Calm, soft caresses meant only to soothe and comfort.

For the first time, ever most possibly, Jack was touching Ianto with no desire to bed him. All he wanted was to ease his suffering. If he could, he'd dig into Ianto's very soul and remove all the pain and torment and nightmares he knew resided there. He'd tear them out with his bare hands and burn them. All he wanted to do was make this better.

And he couldn't.

He hadn't realised he was crying too until he felt the wet warmth on his cheeks and tasted salt on his lips. Ianto clung harder, his lithe frame shuddering with sobs, mumbling nonsense into Jack's woolen shoulder. Jack didn't say anything; words were beyond useless now even if he could think of something to say.

Eventually though Ianto's tears slowed, stuttered and stopped. His breaths went from staccato hitches to smooth and calm, and Jack thought that he had simply cried himself into oblivion. It would be understandable given what the young man had been through in the past twenty-four hours, and all Jack could do was thank deities he wasn't sure he believed in, for Ianto letting him be there to hold him. It was the only sign he had that maybe, just maybe, Ianto didn't blame him for everything.

He should. This was all Jack's fault.

Ianto wasn't asleep though, he was merely drifting, sitting half on Jack; finger's curled into the lapels of his great coat, and the steady thump of Jack's heart under his ear. Slowly he pulled away, wriggled a little, and finally settled. For the longest time he simply sat there, straddling Jack's lap, staring at the man before him. He counted every sooty lash fanning out from those blue, blue eyes before leaning forward and capturing Jack in the sweetest of kisses.

It was like no kiss Jack had ever shared before, and there had been a lot. It was a soft slide of lips and gentle stroke of tongues and Jack felt that if he even dared to participate he would break the fragile beauty of it. But Ianto, sweet Ianto, coaxed and drew him in. There was no teasing or flirting, it was simply kissing in a way so foreign that it brought tears to Jack's eyes. It was pure passion, and set Jack's blood on fire and he'd never felt so _alive_ nor so at peace. Jack swore he felt the world just stop as Ianto kissed him. And with a blinding flash of certainty, he realised. This was _love_. This was what Ianto felt for him, had felt for him for god knows how long and Jack had been so fucking blind.

He could have had _this_, this peace, this security, this gentle soothing soul balm for months and he hadn't seen it.

Webb had though. Webb and his fucked up sense of protection and destruction and caring and he'd given Jack the most precious gift in the world. And he shouldn't have had to. Jack should have seen it, Jack should have realised that it was there all the time, just waiting for him. Waiting and watching and never wavering no matter what Jack did.

Gently, almost as soft as a whisper, the kiss broke. They barely parted though, nothing more than a sliver of light between them and a single strand of saliva, glimmering in the night, kept them together. Jack raised a hand and stroked the side of Ianto's face. The skin was different now, silkier but infinitely harder. Like smoothed marble. And he adored the feel of it under his finger tips. His own skin felt so rough, so inadequate now, and he just couldn't stop stroking.

Ianto kissed him again, softly spreading his lips to Jack's. This time though it was chaste and brief and when he pulled away, he pulled away. And when he spoke it was soft and lilting and those Welsh vowels Jack had fantasized about so many times turned his words into lyrics.

"I don't know what we do now Jack." Jack opened his mouth, desperate to tell Ianto that he knew now, he understood, he felt it, but a soft finger gently pressed itself to his lips and Ianto shook his head. "No, listen. I don't know what we do now," he smiled slightly, "But, I think, we have eternity to figure it out."


End file.
